


stay (to the morning)

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, and a lot of ambiguity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Doyoung has always thought of life as having its certain set of rules. Rules of the Universe. Something like that. There’s many of them. Yet some of them aren’t meant to be broken.Like falling in love with your best friend.But, let’s put it this way: Doyoung has never been very good at following any sort of rules. And really, with someone like Taeyong as his best friend—especiallywith Taeyong as his one very best friend—how was he ever meant to follow that one in the first place?





	stay (to the morning)

**Author's Note:**

> well, hello there.
> 
> this is the first fic i've posted in over a year, the first nct fic i've ever written, and honestly, the one i'm most unsure about posting. it took me weeks to complete this as i've only been writing it at odd hours of the night, very sporadically—and i'm fairly certain you can even notice the difference in writing style and narration as you read it. but i'm tired of having it gather dust in my drafts, and it's finally somewhat complete, so there you have it.
> 
> do be gentle with it; a lot of (my own) feelings went into making this, so as much as i'm not exactly sure how i feel about it, it's still precious to me. i haven't had time to edit it yet; i'll most certainly come back and fix mistakes as i go... those of you who know, you _know_.
> 
> i listened to a variety of stuff when writing this, all revolving around the same mood; namely [this](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/suncity/1438912699), [this](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/morning-after/1287381904), [this](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/neon-ep/806216149), and lately [this](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/oh-wonder/1010724375). title comes from [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baxImKUepXM)
> 
> there's definitely a lot more i want to say about this, but i can't find the words. i hope reading this is... an enjoyable experience? :-)

Doyoung has an arm around Taeyong’s waist, pulling him close, and just that simple gesture makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. He’s so fucking _happy_. He hopes Taeyong is, too.

If the way Taeyong follows easily, if the way his smile suddenly lights up his entire face before he scrunches up in shy, poorly hidden happiness, Doyoung is willing to bet he is. 

The warmth of Taeyong’s body next to his is radiating, impossible to ignore—not that Doyoung wants that. He’s ready to bask in it, to feel the press of Taeyong’s side against his own, to rest his hand lower on his hip before climbing back up, secure against his waist, always pulling him closer. He’s ready to follow as Taeyong suddenly catches his hand, interlaces their fingers together, pulls him through the suddenly thick crowd of the mall and directs him excitedly towards one shop or another.

They should get smoothies. Or milkshakes. Or bubble tea. Doyoung wants to buy Taeyong the entire fucking mall, if he could.

“Are you happy?” he suddenly finds himself asking, his words too loud even in the crowd. Or rather, it’s as though the crowd quiets instantly around them—it’s like he can only hear his voice, and Taeyong’s, next to him.

But Taeyong isn’t the least fazed—he turns to Doyoung with inquiring but smiling eyes, and there’s an edge to it, something he can’t quite place, but Taeyong’s shrug makes him forget about it. “Of course, I am,” Taeyong’s voice, pleased, answers. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

And normally, Doyoung’s brain would think of a thousand and one reasons, and though he wouldn’t share all of them right away, he could still come up with one or two to prove his point. That’s how it works, usually, when he argues with himself in his head and his own thoughts catch up on the fact that there’s just more to the entire argument than he himself lets on.

It’s complicated.

But no—this time, Doyoung only shakes his head, and smiles easily—because his smiles always come easily, with Taeyong. “I don’t know. Maybe you think I stink, or something. Do I stink?”

At that, Taeyong laughs, loud and ridiculous, and Doyoung follows. The next moment, they’re next to each other again, impossibly close, and Doyoung leans in, presses a shy kiss at the skin under Taeyong’s ear.

Taeyong shrieks, jumps, but doesn’t move away from Doyoung. _This is so lovely_. “Don’t! You know I’m ticklish, Christ.”

“Hey,” Doyoung says, mouth millimetres away from Taeyong’s ear, ignoring his complaints entirely.

He watches as a shudder runs down Taeyong’s spine, before he hums. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

And Taeyong doesn’t answer, because he never does. It’s the kind of thing Doyoung has thought of a thousand and one times before, too—because he’s never had an answer, having never asked the question. And it’s just hard to come up with only one outcome, so he comes up with many. But yeah—Taeyong doesn’t answer, only looks up to Doyoung with wide, hopeful eyes, and Doyoung doesn’t miss the way he parts his lips, exhaling softly, and the tiny, tiny nod that follows.

They’re so close, he feels the air tickle his own skin. Doyoung licks his lips, leans in, and kisses Taeyong.

And it’s wonderful—there’s about a thousand and one butterflies that suddenly start a riot in his stomach, his guts tie in knots that pull deliciously at his insides, and he feels as though he’s reduced to nothing from the simple press of Taeyong’s lips against his own. And Taeyong, lovely, incredible as he is, kisses him back lovingly, deeply, and Doyoung swears he can see stars behind his eyelids.

He enlaces his arms around Taeyong’s figure, brings his hands down his back, before settling them atop his hips. Taeyong hums under him, licks into his mouth once, before pulling away—and Doyoung isn’t desperate for more, because he knows he can have this, all the time, whenever he wants. He makes to open his eyes—

He can’t.

Doyoung can’t open his eyes, and suddenly, fear grips at his throat.

Realization dawns on him, slow and even more so torturous. Taeyong still moves around him, smiles around him, plays with his fingers and caresses his hand. And Doyoung sees him and it’s exactly why he _cannot open his eyes_.

He’s in that weird state of mind, between sleep and reality, where he knows everything around him is a dream, but it’s too real, too good to let go of, and he refuses to believe it.

It can’t be.

It’s like he can feel the tears welling up in his eyes, that are weirdly closed and yet open at the same time. Taeyong is still beautiful—always beautiful, always, Taeyong—and smiling and oblivious. Doyoung _oh_ so wants to kiss him again.

But soon, he can’t ignore the tired pull of his limbs, the itch of his eyes, or even the way he’s breathing. He can feel the sheets against his skin and the soft plump of his pillow under his head. It’s those little details that slowly pull him away from Taeyong’s touch, his laughter, his kiss—

And then, all black.

Doyoung wakes up.

***

Here’s the thing: Taeyong and Doyoung have been best friends since they were ten years old, Taeyong only a few months away from turning eleven.

Doyoung had just moved in the neighborhood then, impossibly young and naive and definitely not shy, but still maybe a little, because he wasn’t all that old after all and he didn’t know anyone in this town, now, did he? What if the kids in this neighborhood hated him?

It took him to meet a young and wide-eyed Taeyong for him to open up just a little bit more, the two of them fostering the strongest friendship he could ever have hoped for, and now… now, well. Things are getting complicated.

Doyoung sighs around his mouthful of stew, scrunching his nose around the steam. On the other side of the kitchen, Jaehyun turns around, still in his pajama tank top and boxers. His hair is a floppy mess on top of his head, and his eyes are still bleary with sleep—but they’re sharper, somehow, as they settle on Doyoung.

“You okay, over there?” he asks, voice low and raspy with sleep.

Doyoung blinks at him. Is Doyoung okay? Sort of. “Alright. Weird dreams, is all.”

Jaehyun nods. He looks like he doesn’t really care. Doyoung wishes he could not care, too—ignore the fire of feelings in his gut at the mere _thought_ of his best friend whom he talks to every single fucking _day_ —

“What, like nightmares?” Jaehyun asks. He’s stirring his coffee cup even though he drinks it black and unsweetened.

A nightmare? Oh, oh no, not at all—except, maybe, yes; because the fear of falling in love with his best friend—no, the fear of _being in love_ with his best friend—is definitely there, in his gut. It’s not like Doyoung isn’t aware of his feelings, but pretending they weren’t there prior to this kiss—no, this _dream_ —was much easier. So much easier.

He sighs, the air coming out of his mouth blowing away to steam of his food. “Something like that.”

Jaehyun raises his eyebrows. “Wanna talk about it?”

 _Does_ Doyoung want to talk about it? “Definitely not.”

Jaehyun hums, bringing his coffee cup to the table where Doyoung sits, and taking a seat facing him. “Well. We have to go grocery shopping, so hopefully that’ll be enough of a distraction for you. Our fridge is whistling.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes. “What the _hell_ does that even mean?”

“It’s something that’s sayable in some languages, alright?” Jaehyun rolls his eyes. Jaehyun studies Linguistics, but still says stuff like “ _sayable_.” Doyoung stares him down with a deadpan look. “Listen, it just means we really need to replenish our fridge, so I’m not giving you a choice. We’re going grocery shopping.”

A pout makes it to Doyoung’s lips, and Jaehyun stares at him with a pointed look.

“Fine. But we’re _also_ getting ice cream afterwards.” Ice cream helps with feelings. Not that Doyoung has _any_ feelings.

Okay, yeah, he does. But that’s not the point… not really.

Anyway.

Jaehyun’s piercing stare melts into a dimple-adorned puppy smile, and Doyoung fleetingly wishes he was in love with him, instead. Jaehyun is easy to love and he easily loves back.

Not that Doyoung is in love.

“I’m down for ice cream,” Jaehyun says, voice much lighter than it was moments before. “Be ready in fifteen?”

“I still need to shower.”

A shrug answers him. “Shouldn’t take you long, right?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, tips his bowl to drink the last of his broth. He’s about to burn his tongue, he feels it. “Fine, fifteen it is,” he says, before bringing his mouth to the edge of the bowl.

The liquid is scorching hot, prompting Doyoung to squeal in reaction. Jaehyun laughs at him, boisterous and ridiculously loud in their small apartment—but unlike Taeyong’s, still; Taeyong’s laugh resonates, impregnates itself against the walls of Doyoung’s mind, soothes his heart—

Doyoung sighs.

It’s just another day.

***

Doyoung has always thought of life as having its certain set of rules. Rules of the Universe. Something like that.

Just a set of things most people agree with. Like letting people leave the subway train before you get in. Or the three-second rule (though some argue it’s five; read: Doyoung). Or the “boys don’t cry” rule (though, again, Doyoung is fairly certain the entire _world_ knows that one to be absolutely ridiculous). There’s many of them.

Yet some of them aren’t meant to be broken.

Like falling in love with your best friend.

But, let’s put it this way: Doyoung has never been very good at following any sort of rules. And really, with someone like Taeyong as his best friend— _especially_ with Taeyong as his one very best friend—how was he ever meant to follow that one in the first place?

***

He doesn’t meet with Taeyong until the next day—which, in their case, is almost a feat.

“Missed me?” Taeyong says, smiles, asks, or something in between, as he looks up just as Doyoung arrives.

“Terribly,” Doyoung replies, rolling his eyes. It’s an honest answer.

He sits down, facing Taeyong and his smiling eyes and his dusty brown hair. There’s still snow sticking to the ends of the thinner strands.

“Did you order yet?”

“Yup,” Taeyong nods. “Should be ready soon. So what are we working on, today?”

They study together—even if it’s getting more and more difficult for Doyoung to focus on anything but _Taeyong_ , lately—as they’ve realized, along the course of their friendship, that they focus better on their school work in each other’s presence.

As of late, however, that focus has been thoroughly tested on Doyoung’s part. The Universe truly honestly is having a fucking fieldtrip with Kim Doyoung.

He takes out his laptop with a sigh. “ _I_ will be working on keeping what I have left of my sanity. And Statistics. I have a paper due, like, next week.”

“Wow. Surprised you’re not starting it like, the night before,” Taeyong whistles, eyebrows high up his forehead.

Doyoung looks over his laptop screen with a deadpan stare, keying in his password. “Thanks for believing in me and my academic achievements,” he retorts. Then, with a slightly quieter voice, “It’s finals time soon, Taeyong. You know I can’t afford to slack off.”

Majoring in Biology is one of the few things Doyoung is certain he wants—even if he has no idea what’s the next step once he completes his degree; even if sometimes, he doesn’t even think he’s capable enough to complete it at all.

It gets hard, sometimes—on him, on his friends, on everything—and Doyoung hates that everyone _knows_ that.

There’s so many things Doyoung wants—and the main thing, probably, is for it all to be easier.

On the other side of the table, Taeyong scrunches his nose in sympathy. He stretches out his hand, fingers latching onto the hem of Doyoung’s sleeve. It’s just a thing he does; with time, Doyoung has grown accustomed to his best friend’s clinginess, his constant need to move and _touch_. It’s just the way he shows he cares, he listens, he loves—and it soothes Doyoung, a warm feeling coursing through him at the gesture.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t also send Doyoung’s heart flying out the window, though. It didn’t use to, not like this, not this bad—but this past while, and definitely after that _dream_ , well. Things have changed.

“How many exams do you have this time around?” Taeyong asks, voice _oh_ so soft—too soft—his eyes scanning his friend’s with worry.

Doyoung sighs, lowers the screen of his laptop to get a better look at Taeyong. “Four, out of five classes. But I’ll be _fine_ , Taeyong.” Really, he will. “And I’m not the only one in school, now, am I? How are finals looking like for _you_?”

Lowering his head and effectively averting his eyes, Taeyong just shrugs, a slight smile appearing on his lips. Doyoung knows that smile all too well—it’s meant to be reassuring. Instead, it takes a sad twist, and they both know what it means.

“I’ll be fine too,” Taeyong simply offers for a reply. He takes a moment before meeting Doyoung’s eyes, and sighs when he sees the pressing look his best friend has on him. Runs a hand through his hair. Jiggles his leg under the table. Starts playing with the rings on his fingers. All code speak for _stress_ , in Taeyong Language. “Just—assignments, mostly. You know the drill. Nothing big.”

“Let me guess. Three essays, an exam, and a panoply of projects to complete before the end of the term,” Doyoung lists off. “And that’s beside your job, and your responsibilities at the mag, and—”

“Doyoung,” Taeyong cuts off. There’s an edge to his voice. Again—they both know what it means. “I’ll be fine.”

 _Will you?_ Doyoung wants to ask. It’s no surprise to anyone who’s close enough to Taeyong that the boy is nothing short of a workaholic—and like Doyoung, it takes a toll on him and everyone around him—but it often reaches a point where Taeyong is barely keeping himself alive, skipping meals and hours of sleep in order not just to complete his work, but to produce the very best thing he can come up with.

It’s admirable, and it also breaks Doyoung’s heart.

This conversation is one they’ve had one too many times, though, and Taeyong is nothing if not incredibly stubborn when it comes to ‘his way of doing things’, as he puts it—so, once again, Doyoung just decides to drop it.

“Alright,” he says quietly. Then, he does something he doesn’t let himself do often enough—he pulls his hand away and grabs Taeyong’s, unlatching it from the cotton of his shirt and instead burying it in the heat of his own touch. “But promise you won’t go nuts by the end of the semester? I still need my best friend around that time, you know.”

At the touch, and at the words, Taeyong’s face melts into fondness, and maybe, just maybe, Doyoung’s heart _squeezes_. He doesn’t want to admit just how fast his heart is beating again. “You’ll still have your best friend, Doyoung. I promise.”

They stay like that for a few more seconds, and for even the shortest time, Doyoung thinks he sees something in Taeyong’s eyes—like he wants to say something, like there’s something he’s _feeling_ that he maybe wants to let out—but the moment is suddenly cut off by the barista calling out his name.

The touch is gone as soon as it came, and Doyoung clears his throat.

Taeyong gets up, fetches their drinks. They go the rest of the afternoon studying—or trying to—leaving Doyoung to steal glances at his best friend, from time to time, thoughts running in his mind.

***

When Doyoung makes it back home that evening, there’s a shape moving on the couch that is definitely _not_ Jaehyun, a shape that has its socked feet on their coffee table and is watching an episode of _Explained_ on their rundown TV.

“Welcome home, Doyoung darling!” the voice greets, high and melodious, and the shape moves, revealing a charming smile and bright eyes with an ever present teasing glint to them.

“Ten,” Doyoung calls back, toeing off his shoes. “Is Jaehyun home?”

Ten turns back to the TV, and when he replies, he sounds like he’s munching on something. “Still at school,” he says. “Texted me saying he should be there around 8, and that I could stick around for dinner.”

“Of course he said that,” Doyoung mumbles. “Didn’t stop to think about me third wheeling your asses.”

He makes his way to the couch, letting himself fall next to his guest. When he steals a glance towards him, Doyoung catches sight of the bag of Maltesers in his hands, and stretches out a hand to grab a bunch.

However, Ten moves the bag out of his reach and tuts. “Go get your own.”

“You definitely took this from our cupboards, Ten. This is literally _mine_.”

“I also know for a fact you’ve got a whole load of snacks left in the kitchen,” Ten says. “Just move your ass and grab some.”

Doyoung fixes him with an unimpressed stare.

Ten tries to hold it for about five seconds before he relents, rolling his eyes with a loud (exaggerated) sigh. “ _Fine_.”

Doyoung snorts. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asks, popping a chocolate ball in his mouth. He joins his feet with Ten’s on the coffee table, and lets his head fall on the back of the couch. In front of them, Netflix is asking them whether they’re ready to watch the next episode on the line. “Don’t you guys have somewhere to be? It’s Thursday.”

The question pulls another sigh from Ten, this time whiny and definitely theatrical. “It _is_ Thursday,” he enunciates with a high voice. “And we _all_ know Thursday is _date night_. And I know it’s not Jaehyun’s fault if school is kicking his ass and if he has to stay later at the library to finish whatever translation homework bullshit he has to work on but—”

Ten cuts himself off with a groan, and another sigh; this time, it’s softer, resigned, like there’s an emotion to it Doyoung cannot put words to. There’s something that shifts in the air, and Doyoung waits for Ten to continue rather than breaking the moment.

“Sorry. It’s fine. We’re fine. You probably don’t want to hear any of this anyway—”

Doyoung jostles him with his shoulder. “Nah, dude, just talk about it. Let it all out.”

It takes a little longer before Ten speaks again, and it’s like the air thickens around him; darker, lonelier, worried. “It’s nothing. It’s just… I’m tired of us being so busy. And even if we both understand why it’s happening and we still see each other a lot and everything, it’s…”

As Ten speaks, Doyoung’s mind wanders, and compares: how seeing a loved one worn out through work can _hurt_ , but not just because of the worry. How sometimes, even when you see someone every single day, there’s always something getting in the way that keeps you from really enjoying their presence at all.

How, when you really, _really_ think about it, the issue isn’t so much with time (or lack thereof) but with the emotions you’re dealing with, and the yearning they cause.

Ha.

“It’s like you’re missing him, even when he’s right in front of you,” Doyoung speaks. And then, when he remembers this is Ten talking about Jaehyun, and not just him pondering about another certain someone, he adds, “Right?”

“Right.” It’s odd to hear Ten’s voice sound so small, when it can so easily fill the room. “I guess that’s it, yeah.”

Though Doyoung usually strays away from Ten’s unrelenting touchiness, this time, he’s the one bringing his arm around his friend’s shoulders, squeezing once, before he speaks again. “Talk to Jaehyun. Just tell him what you’ve just told me.”

“But I don’t want him to worry. And I don’t want him to think that we’re—that I—”

“Is that what you want?” There’s no need to put words to whatever Ten is trying to say.

Ten vehemently shakes his head. “ _No._ God, no. Never, not—no.” He buries himself deeper against Doyoung’s side. Ten has always been incredibly touchy—a trait he shares with Taeyong. “I would never.”

“Then he won’t think that,” Doyoung smiles kindly. “And if you guys actually talk it out, you’ll also figure something out. Maybe, you know. Thursdays aren’t a good day for date night anymore. Maybe you guys are just a Wednesday kind of couple now. Or whatever. I don’t know.” This is getting ridiculous, maybe. “But just talk.”

Ten snorts, and the worry painted on his face moments before is gone, just like that. Amused mischief replaces it, and Doyoung feels him at ease again. “What are you trying to say? And since when are you some kind of love guru anyway, huh?”

 _Since I’ve finally admitted to myself that I’m stupidly in love with my best friend._ “I’m not,” Doyoung chooses to say, grabbing the entire bag of Maltesers from Ten’s distracted hands and getting up from the couch. “I’m just smarter than both of you lovebirds.”

“Bullshit,” Ten calls from behind him. “You’re just as stupid as the both of us, if not worse.”

In the kitchen, Doyoung opens the fridge, finds a spaghetti Tupperware plate with a pink Post-it note on it reading his name. Jaehyun cares and loves caring, and Doyoung is infinitely grateful. Ten is some lucky guy.

He takes the plate out and shoves it in the microwave. “What makes you say that?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Picture this: Comms major, insanely overworked idiot, big wide eyes, dance prodigy, your best friend, my roommate. Sounds familiar?” Ten lists, and ends with a smirk.

This isn’t new. Ten has been on Doyoung’s back for _months_ now regarding this… thing, developing in the pit of Doyoung’s gut, blooming for Taeyong, be it butterflies or whatever else. But in the months this has been happening, Doyoung has shifted from denial, to discreet acknowledgement (in his own mind, only), and now…

Now, things have changed—in Doyoung’s mind, again, at least—and because of that, he doesn’t know how to reply to Ten’s words, at all.

He doesn’t even know how his body is reacting to any of it—but judging by the way Ten’s eyes are growing bigger by the second, it’s probably very, very embarrassing.

“Oh. Oh, my _God_. Kim Doyoung, did you—you’ve finally decided to admit it, didn’t you?” Ten is positively shrieking, and apparently, “Doyoung, you’re _beet red_ , you dumb shit. Oh, _wow_.”

“I didn’t admit anything,” Doyoung mumbles, but it sounds unconvinced and weak and _fuck_ , this is awful. All sorts of awful. His face is heating up indeed, and he cannot do one thing to stop it. _Awful_. “I don’t have feelings for Taeyong.”

“I never said anything about Taeyong,” Ten chuckles. “And I definitely didn’t say _anything_ about feelings, either.”

Shit.

There’s something thick forming somewhere in Doyoung’s throat. It’s not that he wants to cry, but more like his body is keeping him from spilling _everything_ to Ten, to just letting it all out and face it properly—because speaking those words out loud would make it all so real.

He looks up and finds his roommate’s boyfriend staring him down, but after a few moments, his gaze softens, like he understands. “Doyoung, dear. Just talk to him. You’d be surprised how well it could go.”

_How would you know that?_

Maybe, after all, Doyoung doesn’t need to say anything for Ten to understand. Maybe he’s really just that obvious. “To say what?” he says, voice small.

“Now, _you_ probably know better than I do. I’m just, you know. Telling you to follow your own advice,” Ten adds with a wink. “You’re the love guru, here, not me.”

That, at least, makes Doyoung laugh a little, and whatever is tightening his throat eases up a bit. Yet, he’s about to add something—like how could he just… reveal the depth of his feelings that easily? Wouldn’t that jeopardize everything they’ve built over the years? Doyoung and Taeyong, Taeyong and Doyoung, what would become of _them_? —when the microwave beeps, and his thoughts are halted before he can say a word.

“Is that Jaehyun’s spag?” Ten asks, peering at the food.

Doyoung hums. “Wanna share?”

Ten looks at him like he’s dumb for asking, before turning and making his way to the living room, Doyoung on his heels. “Uh, _duh._ Come on. Join me on the couch. The episode of _Explained_ on aliens is about to start. _Aliens_ , Doyoung!”

And just like that, thoughts of Taeyong are put on hold in Doyoung’s brain—at least, the time of a meal, an episode (or many) of some documentary series, and Ten’s comforting company.

***

Things get both easier, and harder, as the weeks progress.

Doyoung sees less of Taeyong. They still each other nearly every day, either studying or working in each other’s company. In those times, they stay silent, just being there for each other, sometimes exchanging a few looks, remarks, to alleviate the overwhelming stress pressing on the both of them.

Sometimes, they actually take the time to grab a bite together—Doyoung, especially, is the one who insists. They both know they both do a terrible job at staying alive at times, but they also both know Taeyong would definitely take the cake out of the two of them, would it be some sort of sick competition.

And Taeyong often puts up a fight— “I can’t, I have a lot to do, I really can’t, I _need_ to edit this thing for my Intermedia class by _tonight_ , Doyoung!” —but Doyoung is nothing if not incredibly persuasive, especially when he knows his best friend so well.

Taeyong relents more often than he would like, Doyoung also knows. But when he does so with a small smile that looks more genuine than resigned, so it’s not like Doyoung is really that concerned.

And so they grab lunch, they study, they drown themselves in coffee, in each other’s company. But at times, often times, it’s not enough.

 _It’s like you’re missing him, even when he’s right in front of you_.

Doyoung’s own words replay in his mind like an annoyingly true mantra, because the truth of them is something Doyoung has a hard time coming to terms with.

It’s the worst part—feeling like he needs more of Taeyong, more of his everything, when he has no right to. That no matter the circumstances, Taeyong is his own person, and he’s Doyoung’s _best friend_ , and so Doyoung cannot, simply cannot give his all to him the way he so desperately wants to. And so he wants, wants, _wants_ , and it’s like watching himself go through the motions of being with Taeyong through a thin glass he cannot break.

It’s hard.

But it’s also easier, somehow. Because as the days go by, Doyoung has learned to attenuate the strength of… whatever it is that climbs up his throat and makes him breathless with _love_ , with appreciation, with care. It’s still there, but subdued, easier to deal with. The more he sees Taeyong with this new outlook on things, this stronger wave of feelings, the more Doyoung learns to turn it into something _good_ , that is not just plain painful.

And so, it’s easier.

And sometimes, sometimes… it makes Doyoung feel daring.

He reaches out. Leaves a touch against Taeyong’s skin for a little longer than he usually would. He stares. Leaves his gaze on Taeyong for a few seconds more even when he looks up, only turning away when he feels the question forming in Taeyong’s eyes. He smiles. Even when there’s no reason to, even when Taeyong then turns to him with an incredulous chuckle.

And those moments, they light up Doyoung’s heart in flames, because Taeyong, through it all—Taeyong gives right back, always. In smiles, in touches, in softer tones of voice, in the way his eyes sometimes just… light up, too, the way Doyoung’s heart and soul do.

Images of his godforsaken dream haunt him sometimes, still. Doyoung still doesn’t know whether or not to call it a nightmare, but he finds it even scarier how, sometimes, it feels more like a memory than a dream at all. The looks and feelings he’s been getting lately are too similar, even when juxtaposed to his brain’s own fantasy.

Hope is a dangerous thing, Doyoung knows. Taeyong is his best friend. Care and love have always been part of their friendship, and it always will be (he hopes, anyway). And so confusing it with something more, even when everything might lead his delusional brain to it, it’s…

Dangerous.

But Doyoung quiets that part of his mind. He goes to sleep with his heart both lighter and heavier every night, waiting for some dam to break, or for the sun to finally come out of the clouds.

He doesn’t know which one he’s least looking forward to.

***

_plz dont come home tonite lol_

Doyoung stares down at his phone. He can feel the annoyance twisting in his gut, rereading the text over and over again.

Fuck you too, Jung Jaehyun.

He groans, poising his booksack on the ground and leaning against the building walls. It’s 9 PM, Doyoung has just finished his shift at the lab, and the only thing he wants to do is go home, shower off the smell of antiseptics on his body, and rot in his bed (read: possibly, maybe, get over himself and get some last minute assignments done. The night is still young, after all).

But Jaehyun and Ten decided to throw those plans out the window, because of course, their libido matters more than Doyoung’s fucking sanity.

He lets his eyes flutter shut. The air around him is cold and crisp, biting at his skin as the wind blows by. Even the high buildings of the downtown campus aren’t able to keep the cold winter air from messing up his air, making its way through the lapels of his coat, freezing him to the bone.

He wonders, fleetingly, if he could just stay there. Outside, leaning against the cement wall of the Sciences building. Let his body turn into ice. There’s something oddly enticing about this incredibly impossible scenario that keeps Doyoung’s body from moving, keeps even his mind from _thinking_ —which, lately, rarely ever happens, what with the way Taeyong occupies his every thought at every waking moment—

His phone pings again, once, twice, and the moment is broken.

_ten says tae is home alone n freee :O_

_love u roomie!! <3_

Doyoung groans again. The night is set for him, then, isn’t it.

His hand is turning numb from the cold, so rather than texting his best friend, he keys in his contact and calls him.

“Doyoung?” Taeyong answers right after the first ring. Of course he does. Boy might be neck deep into the avalanche of work that constantly surges onto him and he’d still put his friends as his number one priority. “What’s up?”

“I’m cold, exhausted, and lonely. Jaehyun and your stupid roommate are keeping me out of the apartment because they’re stupidly sexually frustrated and you’re my best friend in the entire universe, so.” _Ha_. “Mind if I crash?”

It’s convenient. They leave ridiculously close to each other—it’s bound to happen, when nearly a quarter of the student population on the island lives in the southwest like the both of them do—and so their respective homes have become nearly conjoint, with time.

Taeyong’s laugh sounds scratchy through the phone, but it manages to warm Doyoung’s insides nonetheless. “Come on over, then. I’ll even make you dinner, _best friend_.”

“You’re an angel, you know that?”

“I’ve been told, yeah. See you in fifteen?”

“Make it ten.”

They hang up, and Doyoung doesn’t waste time before heading to the metro, picking up his stuff from the ground and making his way to the station.

The ride is quiet, and Doyoung lets himself enjoy it. Weak lights leave subdued patterns on passengers. The lull of the cars makes the few of them move in unison, tired, almost dancing. If Taeyong was there, he’d pick up his camera, would ignore the onlookers’ uneasy stares, and would create something marvellous out of the scene.

Doyoung sighs. In his ears, a man croons about being in love in the moment, and maybe he’s starting to understand what it means.

When he steps through Taeyong’s front door—he’s got a key from the one too many times this kind of situation has occurred, and Ten simply offered it to him once, with a wink—Taeyong peeks his head from the kitchen, soft hair flying around his cheeks, and his face lights up with a smile. “You’re home!”

Doyoung’s heart squeezes. He could get used to this.

He takes a sniff of the air around him, toeing off his shoes, making sure they’re aligned to Taeyong’s on the side of the wall, before making his way to the kitchen. “What are you making?”

“Fried rice,” Taeyong says, his back to him. “I’m sorry it’s not the best thing, I just grabbed whatever I could find in the fridge, and we haven’t really done much grocery shopping lately—”

Doyoung puts a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder, and he stutters to a stop. “Yong, stop, it’s perfect. You’re perfect for even thinking of making me food, you know that?”

“Not perfect, just decent,” Taeyong mutters, and Doyoung revels in the shyness of the smile he can see from where he stands, slightly behind him. _God, you can be so cute_. Then Taeyong adds, “Go shower. You stink of chemicals.”

“Is it that bad?” Doyoung grabs at the front of his sweater, trying to smell.

Taeyong turns to him, wrinkling his nose. _So cute._ “I don’t know, I don’t care. I smell it, get rid of it. Go shower, you old man.”

“You’re older than me.”

“Details!”

Doyoung makes quick work of it. He doesn’t think of Taeyong. He doesn’t think about how many times he’s done this, and that maybe today it feels strange against his skin. He doesn’t think about anything.

He really doesn’t.

Instead, he hums under his breath the whole time, singing the occasional line. He knows Taeyong will tease him about it later.

When he comes out, the steam in the small bathroom blocks his view of the mirror. Maybe it’s better this way.

He’s guided to the living room by the smell, and finds Taeyong on the floor, laptop on his lap, two plates of rice sitting next to him. His hair is soft around his face, his hands sure around the keyboard, eyes focused and piercing. Doyoung knows he doesn’t hear him coming, headphones snug against his ears. There’s exhaustion wearing down his features, but he is still beautiful, stunning, and Doyoung’s heart is about to carve its way out of his chest, and…

He sighs.

He sits next to him, grabbing a plate and eats slowly. After a few minutes, Taeyong turns to him, and Doyoung watches as his eyes soften, again, and he smiles, again, and he doesn’t want to hope, again. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Good?”

“Delicious,” Doyoung nods around a bite. “You know you’re good at this shit. You should’ve moved in with me, not Ten. Jaehyun is fucking useless.”

Taeyong laughs, and Doyoung smiles with him. It’s kind of weird that they don’t live together. It was always a plan of theirs, but things simply occurred differently—timing wasn’t right, but Doyoung isn’t complaining.

Not really.

When he looks back up, he finds Taeyong watching him with something different in his eyes, and it makes him stop. Before he can say anything, though, he hears, “Long hours at the lab?”

Ah. Worried Taeyong it is, huh. “The usual. It’s alright.” He nods towards the software open on Taeyong’s screen. “Still editing?”

“Sure am,” he groans, before running a hand through his hair, messing it up. Drumming his fingers against the pad of his laptop. Pursuing his lips, letting go, biting the bottom one, letting go. Doyoung watches, feeling the tension build up in the air around them. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

“That someone should eat his rice, too,” Doyoung presses gently. He bumps his knee with Taeyong’s, who offers a quiet smile. Not the good kind. “Did you eat anything today?”

“I did! Coffee.” It’s said derisively, but he picks up his plate, and starts eating, and Doyoung relaxes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—no, don’t do that.” It’s never about making Taeyong feel bad—hell, if anything, Doyoung feels bad, because Taeyong deserves _better_.

He deserves the best.

The discomfort sticks, however, even as they eat in silence. Doyoung waits for Taeyong to finish his meal before he asks, “How about we watch a movie, huh?”

The guilt taking over his face is almost overwhelming, Doyoung can see. “I’ve got to finish this, though, and I also have to start on this feature piece for the mag—”

“And I’ve got a paper to write for my Genomics class, and my Neurobiology final is next week. We’re in the same boat.”

Doyoung sighs, puts his plate on the table next to the couch, moving closer to Taeyong’s side. With delicate movements, he closes the lid of the laptop (makes sure to save everything before doing so—Doyoung’s not stupid), puts it away from his best friend’s reach, and takes his hand, fixing his gaze on their linked fingers.

Maybe the tiredness is also getting to his brain, making him do things he usually wouldn’t, but maybe it’s for the best, this time, at least.

The air around them still feels odd, electric with tension, so palpable that Doyoung can almost taste it on his tongue. It’s not so much a tension between the two of them—though something is _there_ —than it is something surrounding Taeyong, the way he moves, he breathes, he speaks.

“Doyoung…”

Doyoung can’t stand it, he finds suddenly. He can’t stand the way the air around him is filling up his lungs and leaving him breathless, almost just like the way Taeyong’s sight does, too.

He runs his thumb across Taeyong’s knuckles. He watches quietly as Taeyong’s hand presses just that tad bit more against his, and maybe he sees the shadow of a shiver run down both their spines.

“Just relax a little, yeah? Just… let it go. Just let go. Yeah?” Doyoung isn’t sure if he’s talking to Taeyong or to himself.

He isn’t sure if he’s talking about work anymore or something else entirely.

It’s like his focus is leaving his mind at an immeasurable speed, and in a matter of moments, there’s only Taeyong’s presence next to him that matters, his touch in his hand, the warmth he exudes, the soft sound of his breathing.

Desperately, Doyoung tries to bring it all back, to focus back on what’s going around him, the circumstances, today’s date, the stuff he has to do, _anything_ to make this less… less whatever it is than it is—but the closeness is suddenly overwhelming, even though this isn’t the first time.

It’s different. The air around them is just thick, so thick, and Doyoung can barely breathe through it. He has no idea what’s happening, why it’s happening.

When he belatedly makes notice the silence that’s stretching between them, Doyoung looks up—and he almost regrets it, because of how much he receives back.

Taeyong is close, so close, and his eyes—they convey something so deep, and it’s both completely new to Doyoung as it is familiar, as it is _home_. He’s reminded of similar occurrences, too numerous in the past few weeks to ignore, but they go back way before that.

He’s reminded of a dream that, yet again, feels more like a memory than imagination.

Something is pulling him in, and it shouldn’t—

Taeyong is his _best friend_ —

Something twists in his chest, and rationality leaves his body completely, at once.

Taeyong isn’t just his best friend—Taeyong is Taeyong, caring, sweet, beautiful, enticing, passionate, like fire and water at once, and faced with him, Doyoung is helpless.

He licks his lips, unconsciously, and watches as Taeyong’s eyes trace the motion.

“Taeyong.” Whispered, quiet, barely audible.

Eyes snapping back to him, and before he loses this, whatever it is, Doyoung makes a small, subtle nod.

It’s all it takes.

He wouldn’t have thought it to happen this way—but it’s Taeyong who leans in, who slots their mouths together, who pushes and asks an unspoken question on Doyoung’s lips. Doyoung replies by exhaling softly, opening up, letting him in, and giving in, entirely.

It’s desperate, so, so desperate. There’s something behind Taeyong’s kiss that Doyoung is both oddly familiar and completely enraptured with. This is new, uncharted territory—the soft skin of Taeyong’s lips, the plumpness of his mouth, the slide of his tongue against his—but the unhidden desperation behind it all is so very Taeyong’s that it breaks Doyoung’s heart.

But he lets himself have it anyway. He’ll be selfish this one time. He cannot help it.

There’s a hand that slides up from his neck and into his hair, and Doyoung shivers, sparks travelling down his skin. There’s another that clutches onto his shirt, pulling him closer, and Doyoung simply goes along. There’s a moan lodged in his throat, begging to come out, but instead Doyoung hears the whine Taeyong lets out, and it’s like something snaps.

Inhibitions are gone. It’s unclear whether either of them truly think through their motions, but they never once stop. Doyoung doesn’t intend to, either.

This is addicting. It’s _crazy_ how much he wants this.

His arms circle Taeyong’s frame and bring him closer, and Taeyong complies. They’re chest to chest, now, touching, feeling, breathing in unison—and their mouths are still kissing, never stopping. Their lips are more insistent, pushing harder, almost bruising.

Who could’ve known something so soft as Taeyong’s lips could hurt so _good_?

And Doyoung knows Taeyong _loves_ it—he keens under his touch, moving and reacting in ways Doyoung’s nearly never seen him before, and it’s like he can’t get enough. His and Taeyong’s laboured breaths echo loud in his ears, and his heart is beating a mile a minute. He feels hot and lightheaded, while his hands are roaming everything they can, sliding under fabric, feeling warm skin and pressing. The exhales Taeyong lets out are tinged with whimpers, and he’s curving into Doyoung’s hands, his own tightening against Doyoung’s body. He licks into Doyoung’s mouth, deep and languid, tasting and asking, and Doyoung gives, gives, gives back with faint groans and pulling closer, always closer, never close enough.

Taeyong is asking for so much through his touch, and Doyoung keeps on giving, and doesn’t mean to stop.

But they have to pull away eventually, Taeyong through a long inhale, while Doyoung just…

He doesn’t know. He’s still tuned in to Taeyong’s every move, every sound leaving his mouth, entranced.

Can they stay like this? God, how Doyoung wishes they could just stay like this.

There’s an itch at the back of Doyoung’s mind asking, _begging_ to set things straight, because there’s something, _something_ about the way Taeyong is going about this, the way his kiss pushes too much, too hard—

“Doyoung.”

“Hm?”

“Doyoung, I’m sor—”

Doyoung is starting to feel cold—he realizes Taeyong is trying to climb away from him, and _no._ _This isn’t—no._

He latches his mouth on Taeyong’s neck, climbing up in small kisses to the juncture between his ear and his throat, and it effectively cuts the rest of the sentence he _oh_ so doesn’t want to hear. He hums against the salt of Taeyong’s skin, and feels as the boy under him finally, finally relaxes onto him.

Now, now this is it. The tension is gone. The dam has broken. Taeyong deflates against him, leaning his head back with a sigh, and Doyoung’s kisses get softer, almost petal-like against the expanse of Taeyong’s throat.

The hand around his neck strokes calm circles at his nape, and Doyoung hums again. After a moment, Taeyong seeks his lips again, and this time, it is long, soft, unhurried—and as much as Doyoung wants everything, everything that Taeyong has to offer, he takes it in just like he took Taeyong’s storm moments before. The quietude of it seeps into his bones, and after a while, their lips are barely touching; just there, sharing breaths, and Doyoung is breathless once again.

It’s silent. The fire that was burning before, the electricity in the air, it is all gone—all that’s left is Taeyong in Doyoung’s arms, and…

The realization of it all hits him slow, and it makes his head spin almost instantly.

Above him, he hears Taeyong chuckle softly—but it’s different, this time. It’s quiet, intimate, and Doyoung closes his eyes, letting the sound ground him and willing his head to finally stop turning.

“Doyoung, this…” Taeyong’s voice is barely audible in the small space between them, but Doyoung feels it envelop him entirely. There’s another chuckle, and this one sounds a tad bit nervous. “Are you… is this—are you okay?”

“Am I _okay_?” asks Doyoung, incredulous. Suddenly, he gains some of his mind back just to pull away from Taeyong, staring him with the most disbelieving gaze he can muster. “Taeyong, I’m more than okay. If that wasn’t obvious, you know, what with the…”

“Kissing?” Taeyong completes. He smiles, soft, unguarded. His voice is still breathy when he talks. “You’re an incredible kisser, you know. Who would’ve thought.”

“I have many hidden talents. You’d be surprised.” The easiness of their exchange almost takes him off guard, but Doyoung goes along with it. He loves this, loves what it could mean, loves the danger of the hope blooming in his chest.

“What else are you hiding from me, then?” Taeyong tilts his head, and hair falls over his eyes. Doyoung shifts to brush the strands away, and Taeyong’s eyes flutter shut.

Silence takes over again, and they don’t move. Doyoung can feel the questions rushing in his own mind, though he cannot make sense of any of them. As he watches Taeyong, the way he keeps his eyes shut, the way his breathing stays slow, steady, yet sighing at odd times, he knows they’re both going through the same thing.

What do you do, after kissing your best friend like _that_? When it is so very obvious it was more than just any kiss you could ever move on from—especially when you still share the same space, breathe the same air, bask in each other’s presence, the way they are now. How do you do that?

What does it mean, what does any of it mean? What does Taeyong mean, what does it mean for _them_ , what is the meaning of it all, can Doyoung finally—

“Thank you.”

The words startle him. Doyoung finds Taeyong with his eyes open now, still quiet, still unguarded—but there’s something to them that he cannot pinpoint. He’s not sure he wants to, either.

So he nods. He nods, and watches as Taeyong brings their foreheads together, and listens as Taeyong starts humming, and listens as he doesn’t understand the meaning of any of it.

Taeyong, Taeyong, Taeyong. Still his best friend, right? Of course. Even though Doyoung cannot make sense of the emotions filling him to the brim at the moment, even if his heart is raging a war against his brain at the moment, he is still sure about this one thing, certainly.

He just can’t tell what might’ve changed. Questions are still running circles in his head, and he’s given up on trying to answer them.

When they finally, eventually pull apart, Taeyong still leaves a kiss on his cheek. He still keeps his hands on Doyoung’s body, his touch half innocent, half something Doyoung doesn’t understand, but likes. He doesn’t need to understand it to do that.

They choose a movie to watch. When Doyoung catches Taeyong send furtive glances to his laptop at the other end of the room, he intertwines their fingers together. Taeyong leaves another peck on his knuckles.

Doyoung lets it happen, takes it in.

Hope is a dangerous thing. It’s like he’s starting to truly see why, now.

***

The next morning brings a few more kisses, more unspoken questions, and absolutely no answers.

They spent the night in Taeyong’s bed, sleeping—and maybe, before that, making out a little more, and _maybe_ , possibly, Taeyong’s sudden daring hands in the darkness have left Doyoung choking on a moan more than once—and when Doyoung wakes up to his alarm, he hears Ten’s voice chirping far away in the kitchen, and Taeyong’s softer tone, though just as cheerful, bouncing back at him. So very him, as if nothing had happened. Ten’s laugh echoes against the walls, making its way to Taeyong’s room where Doyoung slowly sits up on the bed.

 _Ten_. Right. Because he’s Taeyong’s roommate and part of their little circle of friends and very much aware of whatever Doyoung’s heart’s deal is with Taeyong. It’s as though, slowly, Doyoung reminds himself that none of this is a _dream_ , not like it once had been, and that this is something he’ll have to deal with in real life—along with classes and work and anxiety and whatever else the Universe has in store for him.

Belatedly, he realizes his phone is still going off, blaring an Arcade Fire song he cannot recall the name of. With a heavy hand, Doyoung feels the bedside table next to him, gripping the device and silencing the alarm. He swallows the eerie quiet that follows.

With things now so obviously _different_ , Doyoung isn’t sure if he wants to leave the warmth of Taeyong’s sheets and face the real world on the other side of the bedroom door—and _not_ for the reasons he wishes he was mulling over, no.

He sighs into his hands, pressing them onto his face, rubbing off the sleep from his eyes. Letting moments pass, he revels in the quiet stillness of the room, the muffled voices a few walls away, and he cannot help the summersault his heart takes when he hears Taeyong’s burst of laughter.

With a groan, Doyoung gets up, pads to the bathroom and makes a quick job at cleaning up. When he emerges, he makes his way to the kitchen, steps deliberately slow.

He should hurry—he still has an incredibly lengthy Genomics paper to finish, after all, and a class to attend in the afternoon, and many other things that require time that he is currently _wasting_ —but his guts are churning inside of him and he feels something tickle his spine. The memory of Taeyong’s lips against his is suddenly vivid, and Doyoung has to pause in the hallway just to catch his breath.

He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him, once he takes one more step, and another, and another…

Peeking his head in the kitchen, however, some of his worries ease—Ten is blowing on his coffee, pausing to talk animatedly, while Taeyong faces him with his laptop already open on the small kitchen table, coffee mug next to his left hand and a half finished bowl of yogurt on his right side. He’s dressed and cleaned up, like he’s only moments away from leaving, and Doyoung wonders how long he’s been awake for.

Between them on the table sits a box of Timbits, opened and half eaten. It’s so very casual, so much like what Doyoung has known for so long, that it feels like nothing has changed at all.

Maybe it’s the key to it all, too.

“Sleeping Beauty! There she is,” Ten inquires, shooting him a wink while Taeyong isn’t looking. Doyoung shoots him a glare as he steps into the room, pinching the skin of his nape as he passes him, pulling a shriek out of his friend.

The intervention prompts Taeyong to look up as well. When their eyes meet, Doyoung gets lost in Taeyong’s, wide and bright, and only shining even brighter when his entire face blooms into a smile. It’s small, simple, and a little shy—but there’s something about it that seems reserved for Doyoung only to see, and it’s…

It’s beautiful and addicting, just like everything else about Taeyong.

 _But what are we? What are we doing? What is going on? Do you still want to kiss me? Because God, I so want to kiss you right now._ None of it makes it past his thoughts.

Instead, Doyoung just smiles back, just as shy, and he doesn’t know how it looks. He turns to the fridge, still feeling Taeyong’s eyes on him.

“Let him be,” he hears Taeyong say. “It’s only 9 in the morning.”

Ten hums, like he has something to say, but chooses not to. Doyoung doesn’t ponder on it—he pulls out the milk from the fridge, moving a step to fetch a mug for himself. He drenches his coffee with a cloud of milk and goes to sit next to Taeyong—heartbeat picking up and everything—and raising his eyebrow at Ten when his smile turns into a smirk. Doyoung stares back, reaching out to grab a Timbit.

“Don’t you have class at 10?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “What are you still doing here?”

“Well, _actually_ , I got here about an hour ago,” Ten says, tilting his head. “Came over to pick up my textbooks since I stayed over at your place. It’s like we swapped roommates! Except your roommate is my boyfriend, so. You know how it goes.”

It’s like Ten is trying _so hard_ to poke at the elephant in the room, and Doyoung is truly starting to consider punching him for it. But when he chances a glance at Taeyong, he only finds him rolling his eyes with that same shy smile, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

It’s like Doyoung is starting to realize, more and more, that he knows absolutely nothing.

“Gross,” he settles on saying, drowning the sugary pastry in his mouth with his bitter coffee.

“I do have to go soon, though,” Ten says, checking his phone. “Taeyong, you’re coming with?”

“Yeah, just gimme a sec,” he replies, clicking at his keyboard. “I’m almost done with my edits.”

Doyoung looks at Taeyong’s screen. He brings his mug to his mouth again, pondering over his words, before asking the first question on his mind—the one, at least, not related to what’s _actually_ on his mind. “How long have you been up for?”

He’s answered by a startled glance, almost guilty-looking, turning sheepish by the second. There’s still that same pull to it that Doyoung fell for the night before, though, and it’s almost inhumanely hard not to reach out and _touch_.

That’s Taeyong’s thing, though, so Doyoung doesn’t move. And there’s still the worry that nips at his thoughts, seeing Taeyong so on _edge._

“I don’t know, three hours?” his best friend shrugs, biting at his bottom lip to supress a yawn. Doyoung accidentally zeroes on that, staring as Taeyong keeps speaking. It’s Taeyong Language for lack of sleep, he knows, but it’s also very, _very_ distracting. “I think the stress woke me up. But hey, I’m all done, now, see? Now I won’t have to fret over this Intermedia project so much anymore.”

He turns, removing Doyoung’s gaze away from his mouth to his laptop screen, watching as he saves the project with a final flair to his hand, and closes the software.

Doyoung sighs. His eyes make their way back to his best friend, like they can’t stay away. He’s getting the same feeling as the night before, his body slowly tuning itself to every move, every breath, every word coming from Taeyong—but as much as he’s feeling _so much_ , right now, as his mind is raging a war against reason and emotion, Taeyong remains his best friend; his very stressed, very sleepy best friend, and Doyoung quickly picks up on it.

“You should’ve slept some more, though. Promise me you’ll go to sleep early tonight?”

He almost regrets the sickeningly sweet tone his voice took around his words, but the way Taeyong melts at them makes him swallow his pride a little. Not for the first time, Doyoung thinks he could get used to this.

He has so much love to give, it’s getting suffocating.

“I promise I’ll try,” Taeyong replies, and Doyoung thinks it’s enough. “And, hey, I got you Timmies. You should thank me.” He peers at the box and picks up one of the sugar-powdered raspberry flavoured treats. “Eat up, come on.”

Doyoung barely has to register the words before fingers hover way too close to his mouth, shoving the pastry in his mouth, spreading powdered sugar all over his face—but that’s not the unusual part, no. The unusual, _insane_ part is when he feels _lips_ against his forehead—his _forehead_! —and then a hand pushing his bangs back, thumb stroking his forehead kindly, and eyes staring a little too long before the touch, the looks, all of it is gone as Taeyong leaves the kitchen.

He stays unmoving for a solid five seconds, repressing shivers and frantically replaying the moment— _lips, lips, lips, kisses, kissing, I want more, oh dear God_ —before he hears Ten clearing his throat rather obnoxiously from the other side of the table.

 _Ten_ , right, damn it. Real life. Doyoung has never been so disoriented in his whole fucking existence.

He doesn’t let Ten enunciate the words about to come out of his mouth, quickly grabbing a chocolate Timbit and shoving it forcefully in his mouth. As Ten chokes around the food, Doyoung seethes, “You _shut_ up. I don’t want to know what you have to say. Not a _fucking_ word, you hear me?”

Tears form at the edges of Ten’s crinkled eyes, and Doyoung cannot tell if they’re from pain or laughter. He hopes it’s the former.

“Doyoung!” Taeyong calls from the hall, and Doyoung perks up, getting up from the table with his coffee mug, wiping out the sugar on his face with one swift motion and leaving Ten to fend for his own against nature. His forehead still burns and his heartrate hasn’t slowed down one bit.

His _forehead_! Forehead kisses are soft, they’re special, they’re pregnant with care and affection and a type of _love_ Doyoung thought he was the only one plagued with between the two of them—

“Doyoung?” Taeyong’s tone is slightly questioning, and Doyoung snaps back to reality, entering the hall.

“Yeah?”

“I left you a change of clothes on my bed.” Doyoung finds Taeyong at the front door, beanie low over his ears, tying up his boots. Throwing a quick look outside through the living room, he sees snow sticking to the windowpanes. _Ew._ “And don’t forget about lunch. There’s leftover rice in the fridge, so help yourself.”

None of this is out of the ordinary for the two of them. Staying over is almost as natural as breathing for either of them. But it still makes Doyoung’s cheeks heat up, because now, it’s _different_.

Or is it?

“Understood.” He hides his blush behind a sip of his coffee, keeps up his totally cool air with what he hopes seems like ease. “Will _you_ be back for lunch?”

A wince, and an apologetic smile, as Taeyong steps aside to let Ten put on his own shoes. “Got a meeting for the mag. When’s your class?”

“At three. I’ll see you tonight?” The question is not exactly the one Doyoung wants to ask, but it holds the same meaning. _Will we get to talk about this? Do you_ want _to talk about this, at all?_

“Tonight, yeah, that works.” The spark in Taeyong’s eye now is easy to discern: it’s hopeful, and so tender Doyoung almost swoons on the spot. “Text me, or whatever.”

“Okay.” And because he knows Taeyong, he adds, “Don’t forget about lunch, either.”

A laugh answers him rather than words, and Doyoung smiles back.

“Alright, alright, this is way too sweet, and _I’m_ the one in a relationship, here,” Ten cuts in from the door. “Taeyong, let’s go?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, let’s go.”

Doyoung leans his shoulder against the wall, watching as the two boys turn their backs to him, headed out—

But as Ten opens the door and steps out, Taeyong stops, turns, crosses the distance between the two of them, and presses his mouth against Doyoung.

He freezes for a few instants—though he realizes, through the fog quickly covering his thoughts, that Taeyong’s lips are just as soft as they were the night before, if not even _softer_ —and just as he’s about to part his lips by instinct, only half registering what’s happening, Taeyong pulls away, his face merely inches from Doyoung’s awaiting mouth.

God.

“I, uh.” Taeyong licks his lips, and Doyoung is so _close_ it’s like he could feel it against his own skin, like he feels him breathing all over him. “Yeah. I’m—yeah. Bye?”

 _Oh, Lee Taeyong, you don’t get to do this now, oh dear God—_ “Bye, yeah.”

Taeyong exhales a nervous laugh, and he’s gone again in moments—Doyoung knows not because he watches him retreat, but only because he cannot feel him all around anymore.

The last thing he catches distractedly before the door closes is Ten’s wide shock in his eyes, and Doyoung decides he’s glad that’s at least one thing he won’t have to deal with it today.

***

The day goes as follows: Doyoung wears Taeyong’s clothes, eats Taeyong’s food, is consumed with thoughts of Taeyong. Even the whirling snow outside cannot manage to calm his mind, and it’s all of that that prompts him not to reply to the invitation, once the evening comes, for dinner at Taeyong and Ten’s place.

Doyoung declines with a terrible excuse involving his pending Genomics paper, but sends an array of sorry’s and heart emoticons, and the little kissy face emoji he gets in return ridiculously manages to make him lose his footing as he steps through his own front door.

It’s not that he’s avoiding Taeyong—he couldn’t, really, even if he tried—but he is making great efforts in, you know. Trying to figure things out.

And that includes research.

Later that evening, he spies Jaehyun from the corner of his eye. They’re both in the living room, Jaehyun on the ground with his textbook open on the table, body curved around the notebook he’s diligently scribbling in on his lap. Doyoung watches him from the couch, where his laptop sits on his lap. His paper on stem cell research sadly sits open on his screen, untouched, and definitely far from being complete.

“Jaehyun.”

His roommate hums, not looking up, not even bothering to stop his notetaking for him.

“ _Jaehyun_.”

A tiny sigh this time. Jaehyun does stop writing, and looks up to him with a deadpan stare. “Doyoung.”

“Would you kiss your best friend?”

“Uh.” Jaehyun finally seems to _actually_ pay attention to Doyoung now, even though he still keeps his pen in hand, frozen. “Like, a peck? Or are we talking like, mouth-on-mouth, full action, kiss?”

“Yeah, more like that.”

Jaehyun’s face twists. “Honestly? I cannot come up with enough words to express how much I would _not_ want to do that. And I literally study words for a living.”

Uh. “Didn’t you say you found Johnny handsome once?”

The laugh he gets for a reply is incredulous, if not a little offended. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to _kiss_ him,” Jaehyun scoffs. “He’s like a brother to me. And, if you didn’t notice, I have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who’s not Johnny, mind you.”

Doyoung did notice—just like he did notice that Jaehyun didn’t look at Johnny the way he looks at Taeyong, just like he did notice the way Taeyong sometimes look at _him_ , but also just like he noticed that’s the way Taeyong looks at _everyone_.

“Right,” Doyoung breathes out. “Dumb question, huh.”

“It’s not dumb—I mean… dude, you kissed Taeyong, didn’t you?” Jaehyun sighs, like he was expecting it, like he was expecting this conversation. When Doyoung is about to ask him, to deny, to say _anything_ , Jaehyun waves his hand. “Don’t bother. Ten told me. Obviously.”

“Right,” he says again. Stupid Ten and his stupid cute little face and his stupid observing skills.

“Listen, I don’t know the whole story, and you’re entitled to keep this to yourself, but…” And again, another sigh from Jaehyun. “Wanna talk about it?”

It’s oddly reminiscent.

 _Does_ Doyoung want to talk about it? Absolutely, desperately. He has so many questions that they’re cluttering his thoughts at an alarming rate, keeping him from functioning in a way that feels anything close to proper anymore. Doyoung definitely wants to talk about it. “Definitely not.”

He’s also never been really good at it, though—like, talking? That’s Jaehyun’s thing. Kind, caring Jaehyun, who pushes his friends—and boyfriend—to talk out their feelings, because to him, honesty and trust go hand in hand with communication. It’s not like he’s wrong, either, and they’ve all had plenty to learn from him.

Doyoung thinks back to Ten, on their couch like he is now, only about a few weeks prior. He thinks back to the words he spoke, and how they ring true to him even today, and how much he doesn’t feel like following his own advice _at all_ , at the moment.

Destroying this precarious thing, whatever it is, is oh so terrifying he doesn’t even want to envisage it. As much as it is confusing, having the opportunity to finally reach out and claim what he’s wanted for so long is terribly addicting, and too good to let go of.

Oh, how he wishes for it all to be easier.

Jaehyun is still watching him from the floor, and when he speaks, it’s soft and careful. “You do know you’ll eventually have to talk it out, right? Not with me, of course. But you know that, don’t you.”

Eventually, yes. So Doyoung nods, half to answer, half to convince himself. Jaehyun doesn’t push it, and Doyoung is thankful.

When Jaehyun gets up, he ruffles Doyoung’s hair on the way to the kitchen. “Want some ice cream? I think we’ve got some left from that batch we got last time.”

Doyoung doesn’t deserve his friends. “You’re amazing; you know that?”

“Save it, will you? I just can’t stand you moping around like you do.”

“I’m not moping.”

Jaehyun snorts, and doesn’t answer—but Doyoung still smiles, because it feels right.

***

They don’t talk about it. Doyoung kind of saw it coming.

Instead, they just carry on with their routines. More caffeine. More studying. More nights in on the couch than out in the streets, no matter how badly they all want to just escape responsibility and forget about it all for the time of a night.

(It still happens, though. Of course it does. They’re university students, sure, but they’re not _monsters_ , for God’s sake.)

But to all that, there’s just a few things added to it all—the main one being, well. Kissing. A lot of kissing.

It starts casually, in a way. After that first night, Taeyong doesn’t stop himself from leaving pecks all over Doyoung’s face and hands whenever he can, sometimes lingering for a few seconds, and it’s messing with Doyoung so much he rarely dares reciprocating, no matter how much he wants to. He’s afraid that if he starts, he won’t stop, and he’ll be too obvious to backtrack, so obvious that once it all ends, he’ll be past a point of no return he is oh so very scared of crossing.

Not that Doyoung has a feeling this will eventually fade, but he doesn’t see why it wouldn’t, either. It’s not like Taeyong has confessed _anything_ , for that matter—and so it’s not like this has any deeper meaning to him. Though Doyoung is battling against his own feelings every single moment of the day, Taeyong seems to go through the motions with remarkable ease, grabbing Doyoung’s hand in passing and not once stopping in his sentence, or brushing strands of hair from Doyoung’s face and only smiling kindly when Doyoung stutters through his words at the touch. While this never seems to stop being monumental, in Doyoung’s eyes, it looks as though it’s as easy as breathing for Taeyong.

Doyoung is in love with his best friend alright—but Taeyong, Taeyong is just…

He’s always been touchy anyway, Doyoung reasons. This is just taking it a step further, he figures—in ways that are incredibly intimate, granted, but they’re not the first ones to do it, and they won’t be the last.

Doyoung just lets it happen. It’s not like there’s not a selfish part of him that isn’t enjoying every part of it, because there _is._ That’s the danger, or maybe that’s only cowardice, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t intend on stopping.

He’ll leave Taeyong that decision to make.

There’s one thing he’s willing to admit, though—while he hopes that moment doesn’t ever come, the time he’s most adamant about it is when he has Taeyong all to himself, giving in to him in ways Doyoung has never thought he would ever experience. In those instances, desire blends in with his attachment, reason flying out of the window, and he would readily move mountains to keep Taeyong by his side.

It doesn’t happen often, though. Doyoung knows Taeyong inside and out, and knows him to be nearly incapable of asking for things he _wants_ , especially when he just wants them out of sheer desire. He is so used to putting others’ needs before his own that he often neglects his own wishes, as innocent and small or as deep and consuming they may be—and so while he reaches for Doyoung on a nearly daily basis, rare are the times he will actually ask or even allude to wanting anything more.

Sometimes, Doyoung still sees glimpses of it, of yearning and longing that tinges Taeyong’s eyes or even his touch, but he doesn’t press. Again, this is all too precarious, too fragile for him to possibly disturb and destroy in the span of a second.

But other times, he feels it oozing out of Taeyong like a cry to be heard, and that’s when Doyoung feels daring. The moment he initiates even the slightest of touches, intertwining fingers or pressing shy lips against a cheek, Taeyong always gives back tenfold, gripping at Doyoung’s body and pressing so close Doyoung is almost smothered by the affection.

It’s never too much, though. Doyoung drinks it in at all times, but his thirst is rarely quenched. There’s never too much of Taeyong he can’t take.

There are times when Doyoung wants to ask. He wants to just clear a few things out, just so that he doesn’t feel like he’s giving out all of himself for nothing, or that he isn’t taking advantage of a situation he shouldn’t meddle into. There are times Doyoung has come so close to just spilling it all out, his worries and the depth of his feelings; times when it gets so intense and it feels so _real_ and so beyond what they’re willing to show through their actions that it’s overwhelming, and he just needs that reassurance, that confirmation that indulging in this isn’t as cowardly nor dangerous as it sometimes feels like it is.

Although he doesn’t hope for it, sometimes he’s willing to risk it all just for a chance to hear back the same burning emotions ravaging his heart, reciprocated and shared. The words often burn his tongue, but they never make it past his lips.

The both of them are nothing if not stubborn. And so they keep going.

They don’t talk about it.

***

It’s finals week when things start to change.

If Taeyong and Doyoung were inseparable before, they’re literally attached to the hip now. Although they don’t see much of each other during the day, what with Taeyong’s last run at the mag before the official end of the semester, and Doyoung’s ridiculous number of exams (yay, Sciences!), they somehow always end up together once the sun sets.

Tonight, though, tonight is special. Taeyong has finally sent out his final layouts for the mag, and the blissful expression he wears when he steps through Doyoung’s front door could rival with the sun with how _bright_ he shines.

“I’m a free man!” he exclaims, throwing his bag on the couch. Doyoung winces as he watches it topple over to the floor. He knows Taeyong’s laptop is in there. “I’m _free_. No more of this bullshit until early January. Merry fucking Christmas to me!”

“That’s lovely,” Doyoung says. He closes his Statistics notebook and crosses his arms over it. “Except I still have one more exam to go. Please have some sympathy, yeah?”

The way Taeyong scrunches his nose at him almost makes him groan. _Why do you have to be so cute?_ “Sorry,” he says, coming to stand next to Doyoung. The latter closes his eyes when he feels a hand in his hair, gently pulling at the strands. “You’ll do amazing. You always do.”

“Hmm,” is all Doyoung can muster. He leans onto the touch and sighs softly.

“I can take care of you now.”

His heart stutters in his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s the exhaustion or something that makes it so hard to breathe suddenly. “You always take care of me. You always take care of everyone better than you take care of yourself.”

Taeyong deserves to be taken care of, Doyoung thinks.

But instead, the older tuts. “I didn’t come all the way here to get called out like that.” The hand shifts, sliding down Doyoung’s cheek and staying there. “But really though. Let me take care of you tonight, yeah?”

The suddenly small tone of voice prompts Doyoung to open his eyes, to find Taeyong looking down at him with something akin to reverence, and something else, something…

 _Christ_. Once more, Doyoung questions his sanity, his reason for keeping this up, for agreeing to anything Taeyong throws his way.

Once more, the answer comes to mind easier than breathing.

“I’d love that,” Doyoung says with a ridiculous smirk, and it’s terrifying how badly he wishes he’d said, meant something else.

It’s worth the grin blooming on Taeyong’s face, though, and it’s definitely worth the peck on his cheek that follows. “Sweet. I’ll make you dinner.”

Taeyong makes him lasagna because he knows Doyoung loves it. Taeyong even runs to the liquor store down the street to grab a bottle of wine right before they close, because he knows Doyoung loves a glass of red with his pasta. He puts on music while he cooks, makes sure to keep it at a minimal volume not to disturb Doyoung as he attempts to squeeze in another hour of studying.

What Doyoung doesn’t tell him is that he has his eyes and ears picking up his slight sway, his low humming, the way he bites his lips, the way his hands move confidently around the counter, the happy exclamations he lets out when something turns out just the way he wants it to. He notices everything and just takes it in, smiling yet trying not to.

They eat in the living room, facing the TV and pretending to watch _The Amazing Spider-Man_. The food is amazing. The wine calms Doyoung’s nerves, and turns Taeyong’s cheek rosy and delectable.

“This is great,” he says. He means it. “I’m happy.”

Taeyong smiles softly at him. Doyoung lets himself stare. “I’m glad.”

There’s something about the air around them, about the way Taeyong holds himself tonight—carefree, relaxed, and slightly clingy—that makes Doyoung a little braver, prompting his question.

“Are you staying the night?”

Taeyong licks his lips. It’s like they both know the question is much more loaded than it seems, yet the vagueness of their boundaries still leaves a cloak of uncertainty hovering over their actions, their words, their decisions. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course.” Tonight, Doyoung’s decided, there’s no room for hesitation, for thinking twice, for consequences.

“Then yeah, I am,” Taeyong says, smiling that quiet, shy smile he reserves for Doyoung only. Then he moves, leaving his now empty glass of wine on the floor next to the couch and shifting closer to Doyoung, latching onto his arm.

Once his fingers wrap around Doyoung’s own glass, something slightly starts to change in the air. Taeyong doesn’t stray his eyes away from Doyoung as he dips the glass, taking a sip, and then leans back against the back of the couch. When he hands back the wine, Doyoung mirrors his actions, watching as Taeyong licks his lips again.

They’re furiously red, and Doyoung isn’t sure if he’s just imagining it or if their colour only seems darker because of the dim lights of the living room.

He puts the glass out of reach on the coffee table, and turns his attention to the TV screen. He feels Taeyong moving next to him, fingers caressing the sleeve of his sweater, knee knocking against his thigh, chest pressing against his shoulder.

Taeyong’s intentions are clear as day, and it’s not to say that Doyoung isn’t affected—but he has decided to push him to ask for what he wants, or simply take it without a warning. Doyoung won’t be the one to hand it to him on a silver platter this time.

He has to know, has to make sure that this isn’t just what _he_ wants. He has to know that Taeyong wouldn’t only comply because Doyoung makes the first move, that Taeyong is just as capable of expressing just how _much_ he wants… whatever it is that he wants.

Doyoung doesn’t know what it is about tonight that pushes him to make those decisions. Maybe it’s something about the fact that he knows for a fact now that tonight, Taeyong isn’t trying to forget something anymore through their touch, to push down unwanted thoughts with the warmth of their kiss. Or maybe he’s just trying to prove it to himself that messing with love and lust is worth it, that he isn’t confusing indulgence and apprehension for nothing, that this thing they have going on has chances of never once fading away, just so that he can calm some of his fears and pretend they were never there in the first place.

Taeyong’s hand circles Doyoung’s forearm, sliding down to cuff his wrist, fingers padding at his pulse point. “Doyoung.”

He replies with a hum, leaning towards Taeyong. Pushing his buttons. Trying to make him crack. It’s not like he doesn’t _want_ to, Doyoung knows. That first night, it only took Doyoung to remind Taeyong to let go for him to give in, after all.

An incredulous chuckle, quiet and nearly silent, shakes Taeyong’s body. Doyoung feels it rumble through him in soft cascades. “Doyoung, come on…”

With a sigh, he turns off the TV. Spider-Man wasn’t meant to be part of their night anyway, he has a feeling.

He turns to Taeyong, and their faces are suddenly very close, only inches apart, only a few breaths away. Taeyong’s lips are still red, and parted. Doyoung searches his face before asking, “What is it, Taeyong?”

The question obviously puts him on the spot. Doyoung can almost see the words clog at Taeyong’s throat, with the way his eyes widen even that tiny little bit, the tiny exhale he takes as though he’s about to answer before thinking twice about it, the sudden tightening of his hand around Doyoung’s wrist. Doyoung watches as the wheels in Taeyong’s mind start to turn again, watches as he takes a long, deep breath, and says all in one go, “I really want to kiss you.”

It’s the first time, even since that first kiss, that either of them has referenced to it at all out loud. So far, all of it had been expressed through touch alone, through secret looks and not so subtle body cues—but not once were words spoken, putting it so clearly in the space between them for them to truly grasp at.

Doyoung decides that for tonight, it’s enough. Everything is still so fragile; there’s too much he longs for at the moment for him to push his wait any further.

Taeyong is cracking. This is what he wants. “Then what are you waiting for?”

No time is wasted—Taeyong pulls at Doyoung’s wrist, bringing him close, and surges up to catch his mouth with a burning kiss.

There’s only moments of him being startled before he melts against Taeyong, loving how quick they are to get used to the other, yet how novel and exciting it feels every time. He swallows Taeyong’s whimper with a swipe of his tongue because he sees it coming. Taeyong bites his bottom lip and pulls, eliciting a moan from Doyoung, who revels in the satisfied exhale coming from Taeyong at his reaction.

Taeyong tastes like bitter red wine and something sweet. It’s becoming Doyoung’s favourite flavour as of late.

Things escalate quickly. One moment, they’re side by side on the couch, exploring each other’s mouth, taking their time, kisses deep and slow. The next, Taeyong has his thighs straddling Doyoung’s hips, arms circling his neck and hands in his hair, playing with the strands and pulling. Their shared breaths are loud in Doyoung’s small living room, and Doyoung loves hearing Taeyong the most—he loves the desperation in his voice, the desire that washes over his whines and moans, the admiring tone he takes every time he whispers Doyoung’s name against his mouth. That, he has to admit, is his favourite part.

Having Taeyong like this, all for him, brings all sorts of thoughts to mind. Doyoung wants him begging, crying out, pliant and eager under his hands. Doyoung wants to sit back and watch him, beautiful and ethereal in all his vulnerable lust. Doyoung wants to give in to him, let him take control and be at his complete mercy. Most of all, Doyoung wants to detail every second of these precious moments, engrave them in his mind never to be forgotten, even if there’s a possibility that one day, these memories will hurt him.

This feels real, more real than anything, and it’s too good to let go of.

Doyoung’s hands find themselves under Taeyong’s shirt, discovering the planes of skin on his back, before sliding down and dipping under his belt. When he presses and squeezes, he nearly chokes at the loud moan escaping Taeyong’s throat, who then proceeds to roll down his hips onto him.

“Shit,” Taeyong breathes out. He lets his head fall against Doyoung’s shoulder, moving his hips again, his voice obscene against Doyoung’s ear. “Shit, Doyoung…”

“Keep going,” Doyoung encourages him, mind foggy. He’s drunk off Taeyong’s voice, his body, his everything. He’s enamored with how reckless and raw this feels, how it’s making Taeyong fall apart on his lap. He loves reminding himself he’s the cause of it all, and won’t miss a chance to push things further, this time.

Taeyong turns his head, lips brushing at Doyoung’s neck and earlobe, and Doyoung shivers, exhaling with a small groan. “You like this?”

“I like everything about you.” No time for filters. Taking the risk sends adrenaline thrumming through his bloodstream.

“Tell me,” Taeyong insists. His hips move again, and it’s Doyoung’s turn to moan. “Tell me— _fuck_. Tell me what you like about me.”

They’re not used to exchanging words, again, but tonight, though, tonight is special. Doyoung thinks they both saw it coming.

Where to start? There’s _so much_ he _loves_ about Taeyong, from the twinkle in his eyes to the song of his laughter. He loves his dedication and his immeasurably kind heart, he loves every little one of his quirks and habits. He loves the lean lines of his body, how soft his skin is to the touch, he _loves_ Taeyong and it’s starting to consume him like a raging fire.

“I love your lips,” Doyoung starts, pressing his own mouth at the juncture between Taeyong’s neck and shoulder, nosing at his nape. “There are times I can’t focus when you speak. But you know that, right? You know how crazy your mouth makes me.”

“Yeah?”

“You _know_.” He sucks at the skin under his lips, and drinks in Taeyong’s low hum. “You won’t stop biting your lips every second of the day. You think I wouldn’t notice? This shit drives me _insane_ , Taeyong.”

“Then I won’t stop.”

“I wouldn’t want you to, either.”

Taeyong is kissing him again, and he seems invigorated by Doyoung’s words, curving his body to fit every part of Doyoung’s own frame, touching at every possible spot. He sucks on Doyoung’s tongue, pulling tiny whines out of him that Doyoung only has half the mind to feel ashamed of.

He pulls away slowly, bites his lip in a wide smile, and Doyoung’s mind almost short-circuits right then and there. “Keep at it, then. What else is there?”

“Uh?” Doyoung is too busy looking at Taeyong. Sometimes, even with all the staring he does, it never feels like he’s doing it often enough. He takes in his dusty brown hair, soft and mussed by Doyoung’s own hands. The cherry lip tint of his lips. All the sharp angles that make up his gorgeous traits, to the curve of the tip of his nose and the quirk of his mouth that softens the sight. The glint in his eyes that draws Doyoung back in.

“Tell me, Doyoung,” Taeyong presses. His own eyes are roaming Doyoung’s face, and he almost has the decency to blush. “What else do you like about me?”

“I _love_ touching you,” Doyoung decides to say. The insistence of his words only catches up to him a moment too late, but he continues talking, hoping Taeyong just goes along with it as part of this game they’ve come to play. “Love how you break apart under my hands. You’re so eager for me, Taeyong.”

Taeyong closes his eyes, lashes leaving delicate shadows on his cheekbones. He hums, throwing his head back, like he’s thriving under the praise. He probably is, Doyoung thinks, even though in any other circumstance he would shy away under the words, going as far as denying them just to escape the attention. Right now, when it’s just the two of them, and when they’ve so obviously let each other into parts of themselves they never intended to share, Doyoung can only guess Taeyong is giving himself the pleasure of it all, too.

“I love it when you touch me, too,” a murmur answers him. Taeyong still has his eyes closed. “I never want you to stop.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Taeyong’s throat is too inviting. Doyoung licks at the skin, kisses, bruises. “God—Doyoung, please…”

He’s met with another roll of hips, the friction pulling a moan out of the both of them, loud in the space. “Shit, _Taeyong_.”

“Say my name again.” Taeyong is panting. “Come on, babe.”

 _Babe_. Oh, yes.

“Taeyong.” He kisses the name on Taeyong’s skin. “Taeyong.” He licks it over his mouth. “ _Taeyong_.” He moans it right against Taeyong’s ear, pushing him flush against his chest.

“So hot.” The words turn into a slight laugh. “You’re so fucking _hot_ , Kim Doyoung. I can’t believe you.”

“You should see yourself.” With every word Taeyong offers, Doyoung gives back with some of his own honesty. Today’s the day; they might be using their words rather unconventionally, but it’s becoming more and more clear that this exchange, whatever this is, is turning into something more than what it seems. “You are so _beautiful_ , Taeyong.”

“Just for you.”

They pull apart just to look in each other’s eyes. Doyoung drowns in Taeyong’s. “Just for me?”

A tiny nod answers him. “Only for you. It’s always been you.”

Time stops. Suddenly, Doyoung feels so very naked, like he’s wearing all of his feelings on his fucking face, written loud and clear for everyone to see, and Taeyong is taking his sweet time reading everything—only now Doyoung does the same, and he’s losing himself in the truth that’s slowly seeping through his veins.

_It’s always been you._

Another kiss, more intense than any other. Clothes start to litter the floor, and they find themselves in Doyoung’s room, exploring the darkness and each other, creating their own dream out of their joined bodies. Doyoung gets to make Taeyong bed and cry out for him like he wanted, gets to watch him bloom under his hands, gets to let him take what he wants without any prompting of any kind.

It’s the most beautiful thing Doyoung has ever witnessed.

When they lay in bed that night, he decides to take the risk he’s been so, so afraid of coming to terms to. “I love you.”

Silence answers him, and sleep takes over before he can let any kind of fear lodge itself in him.

***

Doyoung has an arm around Taeyong’s waist, pulling him close, and just that simple gesture makes something twist in his stomach. He’s so _happy_. He desperately hopes Taeyong is, too.

If the way Taeyong follows easily, if the way his smile suddenly lights up his entire face before he scrunches up in shy, poorly hidden happiness, Doyoung is willing to bet he is. But he can never be too sure.

The warmth of Taeyong’s body next to his is radiating, impossible to ignore. Doyoung pays attention, feels the press of Taeyong’s side against his own, rests his hand lower on his hip before climbing back up, securing it against his waist, pulling him closer. Taeyong suddenly catches his hand, interlaces their fingers together, pulls him through the suddenly thick crowd of the mall and directs him excitedly towards one shop or another.

Something at the back of his mind is urgently trying to tell him something, but Doyoung shrugs it off. The feeling remains, begging for his attention, but he has more important matters to settle first.

“Are you happy?” he finds himself asking, his words too loud even in the crowd. Or rather, it’s as though the crowd quiets instantly around them—it’s like he can only hear his voice, and Taeyong’s, next to him.

But Taeyong doesn’t answer. He just keeps on smiling, eyes inviting, mouth daring and almost provocative, edging him on and obviously trying to get something out of him. It’s tempting, but Doyoung needs to _know_. The feeling is bothering him more and more, making itself obvious.

When Taeyong speaks, Doyoung still gets no answer to his question. “Kiss me, Doyoung. What are you waiting for?”

The familiarity of the words, paired with the setting around them, the unfocused details, the reality that seems to slip away between his fingers—Doyoung realizes ahead of time, this time around, that this is nothing but a dream.

He doesn’t wait for Dream Taeyong to lean in. This time, Doyoung wakes up with no effort.

He gets ready in record time, and makes his way out in eerie quiet, leaving a kiss on the forehead of a sleeping Taeyong still dreaming in his bed.

***

Doyoung writes his Statistics exam with little to no bumps on the way. Thoughts of Taeyong, plaguing his mind, thankfully do not deter his intellect the time of his last final. He’s thankful.

He doesn’t feel like going straight home when he leaves the exam hall. It ends up with him aimlessly walking the snow-covered sidewalk facing the building, leaving his footprints behind at every step he takes. Doyoung doesn’t really see them, but he makes a show of erasing them as he walks over them, going back and forth, as he stares down at his phone.

_i’ll be back at my place tonight!!! u can swing by if u want <3_

He bites his lip, and thinks of Taeyong doing the same, probably as he’s typing up the message. Doyoung is still so unsure of many things—but the certainty of his feelings, and their seeming reciprocity, is now obvious. It appeases him a little.

He doesn’t reply though—mainly because another text pings its way onto his screen, this time from Jaehyun.

_bro if u bring home groceries i will make u the most unforgettable end of finals meal u will have ever tasted_

_plsplsplsplsplspls :((_

_the FRIDGE doyoung!!!! its WHISLIN!!!_

For a guy studying Linguistics, Jaehyun really can be hopeless at using languages, Doyoung thinks as he snorts at his screen. He stops his pacing just long enough to reply to his roommate.

_it better be some five star michelin shit or im kicking you out!_

Jaehyun’s response is almost immediate.

_first of all. im a better cook than u so that wont be hard lol_

_second of all. u wont kick me out……. ten and i are too cute for u to get rid of us :D_

Huffing out a laugh, Doyoung pockets his phone and heads towards the subway. Two stations later, he makes his way to an underground mall through the city’s downtown network, navigating the halls and making his way to a (rather sketchy, but nicely stocked and so far still pretty safe) grocery shop tucked between two connected business buildings. He makes quick work of shopping—after all, Jaehyun can be quite the genius in the kitchen, so really, no matter what Doyoung gets, Jaehyun will provide in consequence—and he’s home about ten minutes later, bags of goods clogging his entrance through the front door.

“You are an angel,” Jaehyun welcomes him. He picks up the bags from Doyoung’s hands with one of his own, and ruffles Doyoung’s hair with the other. “A kind obedient angel.”

“Get your hands off me, weirdo,” Doyoung mutters. He shakes the snow off his outerwear before putting it back in the front hall’s closet, neatly tucked in. “I only did this because I’m starving probably even more than you are.”

“Did you eat at all?” Jaehyun asks from the kitchen. Doyoung hears the clutter of utensils being taken out and food supplies being put away.

“Breakfast,” Doyoung lies. He didn’t get breakfast—he didn’t want to wake up Taeyong with the possibility of noise, so he just left the place on an empty stomach and didn’t think of replenishing it throughout the day, save for coffee and a croissant right before his exam.

So, yeah. That statement, earlier, about Doyoung starving? Not an exaggeration.

Jaehyun tuts. “You should _eat_ , you dumb fuck,” he says. “Gotta keep that smartass brain and body of yours fed, hydrated, well-rested, and all that.”

It comes out naturally. “ _Hush_. You sound like Taeyong.”

And Doyoung freezes. _Ugh_.

When he looks in Jaehyun’s direction, the latter is smiling at him knowingly. “Do I? I would think Taeyong’s more… you know. _Intimate_ , with the way he does things with you.”

Doyoung licks his lips. He walks into the kitchen and sits at the counter without a word.

 _Intimate_. Maybe he likes the sound of that.

Jaehyun stands opposite him, throwing him sideway looks as he washes the vegetables. His hair falls in soft strands over his forehead, his dimple is on display with the corner smile he sports, and his eyes are kind despite their playful touch. Still, Doyoung realizes, he doesn’t wish he was in love with him instead of Taeyong anymore.

Taeyong holds the stars in his eyes and more. Doyoung is starting to think he’s a little too greedy to let anyone else have a taste of it the way he does, now.

“Did anything happen last night?” Jaehyun questions with a quiet tone. It’s unassuming but falsely innocent.

“I don’t know,” Doyoung plays along. He drums his fingers against the counter, slowly; unlike Taeyong’s own fast-paced, erratic fashion of doing things, at times. “You didn’t come home last night. You tell me.”

Jaehyun hums, dries his hands, starts cutting the vegetables. Doyoung grabs a knife and helps along. “Well, I was at Ten’s.” A break. “Taeyong didn’t make it back, either.”

Doyoung hums back. It’s a little odd, how they’re skirting along the edges of the truth they both know about. “He spent the night over.”

“Figured he did. Good night?”

This time, Doyoung cannot keep the tiny smile that makes it past his lips. He presses them tight, tries to hide it, but with the way Jaehyun’s own smile grows, it looks like he’s failed. “Good night, yeah.”

“ _God_ , about time!” Jaehyun exclaims, and Doyoung rolls his eyes. “It’s been _months_ of you two just… being grossly into with each other and stupidly pining over the other. Do you know how many times Ten has been bothering me about this? We talk more about you guys and your whatever-the-fuck relationship than _ours_. And Ten and I are actually _together_.”

Doyoung scoffs. Really? Has it been really that obvious? It is true that as of late, he has somewhat felt as though he had lost control over his emotions, letting them spill all over and covering every inch of his face, making them all there for the world to see. In fact, Doyoung hasn’t felt in control in a _long_ time—and for so many reasons—but let’s say Taeyong has made matters difficult on some ends for many (other) reasons.

Still, though. The seeming evidence of it startles him a little, even though part of him knew. It’s not out of thin air that Ten _knew_ , nor that Jaehyun seemed to have an inkling for Doyoung’s feelings for his best friend, after all.

But, _still_. “Is that so?”

“Don’t play dumb, Kim Doyoung,” Jaehyun mutters. He turns to the stove, readying a pan, before turning back to his roommate with a deadpan stare. “So. I take it you guys talked things through?”

“Ha,” Doyoung lets out. Right.

Because you can totally count on Kim Doyoung and Lee Taeyong to take matters into their own hands and _talk things through_.

At the lack of a better response, Jaehyun clears his throat, obnoxious. “Excuse me, _what_?”

Doyoung shrugs.

Jaehyun scoffs. “Wow. I thought you guys—”

“Yes.”

“So you _did_ —”

“We did.”

“But you didn’t—”

“Nope.” The absurdity of it all hits Doyoung now, much later, as it hits Jaehyun instantly. _Oh my God._

“Oh my _God_ ,” he whines. “What are you, middle schoolers?”

Doyoung’s brain blanks and blurts out the first thing it thinks of. “There’s no such thing as middle schools in this province, Jaehyun.”

The glare he gets, he deserves, Doyoung acknowledges. “I change my mind. You’re not getting any of this dinner. Starve, I don’t care what you do. Get out of my apartment, even.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. He’s been doing a lot of that, tonight. “Okay, Christ, don’t get so upset,” he sighs. “First of all, we both pay the rent of this place. This is _our_ apartment. Also, I helped with dinner. I deserve at least a 40 percent share of that.”

“So what _are_ you, then? You and Taeyong. Are you still…” Jaehyun shrugs. “I don’t know what it is that you guys have been doing lately, but. Is it still…”

Oh, how Doyoung is familiar with this ambiguity.

But, in fairness, he’s ready to argue that _no_ , things have changed, for sure, for the better. But how to explain when it was all touch and no words, when it was all feelings and kisses and not one spoken promise made the night before?

Doyoung is _not_ about to talk about his sex life to his roommate. Not now, not ever.

“It’s different.” Doyoung stands up, pours his share of vegetables into the pan, and starts helping with the shrimp next to the stove. “I’m, like, 88 percent sure it’s different now.”

“You sure do like your percentages, Mr. Bio Major.”

“Numbers make sense. I like when things make sense.”

“Oh, do you? This whole thing with Taeyong must have been driving you _crazy_ , then.”

Well. Jaehyun definitely isn’t wrong on that one. Doyoung shoots him a glare, but he’s only faced with a tiny smile, and even kinder eyes than before. Damn you, Jung Jaehyun, for being so _nice._ “You’re right, okay! You’re right. And now it’s changing—it has _definitely_ changed, I’m telling you—and I’m clueless as to what to do. I’m… yeah.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, like half-exasperated, half-fond. Doyoung takes a minute to remind himself that Jaehyun is a whole year younger than him. “Talking, Doyoung. _Talk to him_. You should do just that. And,” he starts again as Doyoung is about to speak, “I know it won’t be an easy feat. But you should, you know. I told you that already. You have no idea how good that could be, for you two.”

The meal starts to take shape in front of them; sautéed vegetables, with a side of shrimp in whatever sauce Jaehyun is prepping on the side. Doyoung decides to busy himself on the rice cooker, taking a step away from Jaehyun, letting their words hang between them.

Jaehyun starts to hum a tune Doyoung vaguely recognizes, and it makes the atmosphere just a little more comfortable.

Do they really need words? Doyoung can’t be sure. The logical thing _would_ be to talk it out—at least, make sure he and Taeyong are on the same page, that Doyoung isn’t just making it all up, like another one of his dreams only to wake up empty all over again.

But it’s _Doyoung_ and _Taeyong_. If there’s one trait they share, it’s their emotional constipation—while Doyoung just… pretends he doesn’t _feel_ things, Taeyong, on the other hand, tends to simply act like whatever he’s feeling isn’t worth mentioning. And they obviously know that about each other, but it’s not like it’s an easy thing to approach, either.

Especially not over something that involves them both, something that makes Doyoung _want_ to feel more, to express his love, appreciation, care, everything he has to offer.

He can only hope whatever Taeyong is feeling—if it’s anything close to the admiration he had in his eyes, just the night before—is strong enough for him to also speak it out loud.

See, the pair of them are champions at tiptoeing over things.

Dinner gets finally ready as Doyoung loses himself in his thoughts, but he regains enough of his mind left to ask one thing, as he follows Jaehyun in the living room to settle on the floor, next to the coffee table.

“How are things? With Ten.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow at him, running a hand through his hair. Doyoung internally winces. Jaehyun’s hands are still shining with remains of oil at the tip of his fingers, he notices.

“Uh. I mean. They’re… great?” Jaehyun answers with an uncertain chuckle. “Like, _actually_ great.” He waits for Doyoung to speak, but nothing comes. “Why, is there something I should know?”

“Oh—no, no, not at all,” Doyoung shakes his head. He pokes at the food on his plate. The smell is delightful. “I’m just, you know. Thinking.”

“Making use of that brain of yours, huh? Good to know. I was getting worried for a second there, what with earlier—”

“Oh, _shut up_ , will you?” Doyoung huffs. He shoves a broccoli in his mouth as he pouts. He doesn’t even like broccoli that much.

Jaehyun snorts, eating and talking at the same time. _Savage_. “What are you thinking, then?”

Doyoung swallows. _Manners_. “It’s just… a few weeks ago, Ten was uh. Worried. About stuff. Between you two. And we talked? And I guess he followed my advice because you guys seem… better.” That’s how it goes, right? That’s how it went? _Please tell me that’s how it went_.

The way Jaehyun is looking at him is making Doyoung almost recoil on himself, suddenly too aware of the attention, of what it means, of what he cannot comprehend from it. “He did, huh? Interesting. So we talked, yeah.” He hums. “Of course, you’d be the type not to follow your own advice, Kim Doyoung. But you can always change that, right?” Then, because Jaehyun is kind, and because he knows how to read the situation better than Doyoung ever could, he turns on the TV, and they eat in what becomes an agreeable quietude.

Doyoung chews on his bottom lip more than he eats his food, but he does finish his plate. When he picks up his phone (much) later that evening, his stomach flips, but he doesn’t let guilt get a hold of him just yet.

There’s always tomorrow.

_are u not coming over today…? :(_

_jk it’s okay!!!!!!! ill see u soon i hope?_

_im sleeeeepyyy…….goodnight doyoungiiieeee <3 dream of me?_

Something twists and pulls at Doyoung’s heart, and he lets it be, revels in the feeling, lets himself _feel_ things, for once. He sends one thing before turning his phone off for the night.

_as if i didn’t already, you fool. sleep well, taeyong. <3_

***

Doyoung doesn’t see Taeyong for another day and a half. The more time stretches, the more antsy he gets.

It’s not like they have any reason for being apart, either. They’re both free from school. Neither of them are scheduled to work (with school slowly easing up, and now being over for the semester, Taeyong particularly has a lot of time to himself, as his main responsibilities at the mag aren’t binding him to his laptop anymore, amongst other things). Doyoung hasn’t done much during that time aside from watching Netflix with Jaehyun, clean up some, and stare at his phone.

Because see, the thing is they text like they always do, Doyoung with his snarky remarks and Taeyong with his overwhelming use of punctuation. Online, their relationship hasn’t changed nearly one bit—if not for a few turns of sentences (mostly on Taeyong’s part) that lean towards vulnerable sincerity, but never too much to be noticed and called out. Doyoung feels it’s almost just his head tricking him and making him believe only what he wants to see.

And so it only takes him approximately 36 hours to reconsider _everything_ —from that dream to their increased touches to that _night_ , literally everything—and the thoughts aren’t just simmering in his head anymore, quiet and unobtrusive. They’re clawing at the edges of his mind now, making themselves heard loud and clear, rattling against the walls of his head and so noisy over everything else (like, say, Doyoung’s rational thoughts telling him he’s just being ridiculously _paranoid_ ) that it gets difficult to just sit and _think_ things through.

Was that dream just an illusion?

Was the reciprocity of Doyoung’s feelings only imagined? Did Taeyong really feel anything _at all_?

What if none of it meant anything, and Doyoung is just putting all of his faith, all of _himself_ , on the line for a chance at… nothing at all?

It’s tough. And it’s only been about 36 hours.

But he does get some thinking done, and it turns out that 36 hours is also what it takes for Doyoung to follow Jaehyun’s advice—and by association, his own, as well. Questions will only remain unanswered if he doesn’t do _something_ about it, now, right?

From his bed where he’s sprawled out, Doyoung reaches an arm towards his bedside table, feeling for his phone. Once he grabs it, he unlocks it without looking. His fingers move over the small screen without him really registering what he’s doing—but he still brings the device to his ear, and waits as he hears the dialing tone.

“Hey,” comes the quiet, kind, soft voice after a moment. Doyoung’s heart summersaults.

“Hi. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve… been?” Taeyong chuckles out. There’s something uncharacteristically bashful about the way he speaks today. It sparks something in Doyoung, something between hope and anticipation—and a tinge of fear, but nothing strong—and he listens for more. “I don’t know. Haven’t done much, so. I—yeah.” Taeyong clears his throat. “You?”

Doyoung bites his lip. The butterflies in his stomach are still going, wreaking havoc in his insides. “I’m alright. Kinda bored.” _Miss you._ “Are you free?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally. I mean, if you wanna hang out, we could. Do you wanna, maybe, uh—”

“Taeyong?”

“Hm?”

Doyoung closes his eyes, listens to the short silence, taking in Taeyong’s odd nervousness. Maybe, in those past 36 hours, he hasn’t been the only one rummaging through his thoughts and setting fire to any ounce of rationality in his brain.

The butterflies quiet down for a second. He waits one, two, three more beats before he says, “I’ll be over in fifteen.”

It seems like the pause works, or unties something in Taeyong’s being, because Doyoung hears the relieved sigh at the end of the line and cannot help the tiny smile that spreads on his lips. Knowing _everything_ about Taeyong is as exciting as it is familiar, and it won’t ever, ever leave him any less breathless. “Yeah, okay. Fifteen it is.”

“See you.” _Love you._ Too soon, maybe?

“Yeah, see you.” Taeyong says it through a hum, and Doyoung is still biting his bottom lip when he hangs up.

Fifteen minutes spent in transit, watching snow and wind whirl and paint the air white, sharp ice digging into his cheeks as he steps out from the bus to the door of Taeyong and Ten’s triplex building. The outdoor staircase twists and turns, up, up, up, and the higher he goes, the more choked up Doyoung gets.

He can still breathe when he reaches Taeyong’s door, though. Maybe it’s all in his head.

When Taeyong opens the door, Doyoung wants to _coo_. Soft strands of ash brown hair peek from under the gray beanie covering his head, fanning over his eyebrows and tickling his lashes. His cheeks are red from the cold, and when the wind hits Taeyong’s face, it scrunches up, and Doyoung watches as Taeyong shivers under the winter cold.

“Hurry in, it’s fucking freezing out there!”

Doyoung shuffles, his heart stutters. “It’s December, Taeyong. And you’re already wearing God knows how many layers, aren’t you?”

Taeyong closes the door behind him while Doyoung shakes off the snow from his clothes, toes off his boots, takes off his jacket. Taeyong’s hands disappear under the sleeves of his sweatshirt—right under the thick wool knit he has over it, swallowing him whole. “Doesn’t make it any less cold outside, _Doyoung_.”

At that, Doyoung turns to him, just when Taeyong does the same, and they stand in the hall, immobile, just staring. Doyoung opens his mouth to say something—

—and nothing comes out. He closes his mouth. Why is it that his words come out silent when there are so many thoughts fighting for his attention in his head? “Um.”

Taeyong blinks at him, hands twisting under the fabric of his clothes. Doyoung knows, if there was a table next to him, his fingers would be stammering against it. Instead, those fingers are twisting cotton and wool in between them.

Doyoung could just reach out and _touch_. They’ve been doing that for weeks now, so what’s stopping him? What made doubt cloud his every thought, why is it that being honest and straightforward with this—these feelings, this situation, this… thing, everything, him, _Taeyong_ —why is it suddenly so utterly terrifying?

It only lasts for a split second, but Doyoung startlingly surprises himself wishing he was only Taeyong’s best friend again, and nothing more. Back then, at least, the feelings that were eating him from the inside weren’t also choking him from the outside, tainting each of his actions, spoiling the air, making Taeyong watch his every move with that unsure look he hates so much—

“Is everything okay?” Taeyong’s voice cuts in, quiet, unsure. His wide eyes are poised on Doyoung, worried, but also scared, like he’s afraid of whatever Doyoung’s reply might be. “You have that look, you know. You’re getting lost in your thoughts again.”

Right. Because only Taeyong could notice that, could _know_ that, because they know everything about each other. Best friends, and then some. “I’m—uh.” Oh, and to hell with keeping up an image. Taeyong must know, right? “I don’t know.”

When Taeyong approaches him, and the tip of his fingers graze the sleeves of his own shirt, Doyoung startles, and then relaxes. Their fingers intertwine, and the world doesn’t seem as scary anymore. Touching might be Taeyong’s thing, but that doesn’t mean that Doyoung doesn’t crave it, especially coming from him. “I ordered in. We can talk or watch a movie, if you want?”

Normalcy. Yeah, Doyoung can do that. “Why’d you order in? I love what you make, you know that.”

Taeyong is visibly relieved, but he attempts to hide it with a slight chuckle anyway. “And _I_ like being lazy sometimes, you know.”

“You, Lee Taeyong? Lazy? Sounds fake.”

“Oh, shush. I’ll eat that pizza by myself, if you keep it up,” Taeyong groans, sitting on the couch with his legs under him. Doyoung sits next to him, but doesn’t touch the food. He’s not hungry anyway.

Instead, he picks up Taeyong’s hand, and starts playing with his fingers. Looking at their hands and not at Taeyong, he asks simply, “How was your day?”

He’s diverging. Taeyong must know. But if he knows as much, then he must also _know_. So he goes along. “I mean—break is always the same, isn’t it? You come out of, like, fifteen works of working, wearing yourself thin, going crazy about deadlines and whatnot and then, all of a sudden, you have all that time on your hands. And it’s—I don’t know what to do with myself, you know? I could be doing so _much_ , but I’m not. I don’t want to. But I also feel weird _not_ doing anything?”

A quiet pause lets Doyoung speak. “There’s only you to be looking for work when you’re supposed to rest,” he murmurs, running the tip of his fingers over Taeyong’s nails. Taeyong squeezes his hand gently around his.

“Right? You know how I get. I can’t sit still. _Literally_.” He sighs, and it turns into a hum at its edges. “I went out to shoot with Johnny and Ten yesterday. You know, after weeks of working with the mag, I hadn’t taken pictures for the fun of it in so long. I’m definitely rusty, but it was nice. I still feel that itch, though. You know?”

Doyoung hums. With Taeyong’s words, he thinks. How familiar this is. Feelings or not, this is the Taeyong he knows. Them sitting on the couch, mindlessly counting stories and minutes, not keeping track of time, this is the _them_ he knows. Doubt gets replaced with familiarity, care, love. “What is it you want to do, then?”

Another sigh, and this time, Taeyong moves closer, stitching his side to Doyoung’s, tilting his head. It almost leans against Doyoung’s shoulder. “I’m not sure. Many things. Little things and big things. You know? Like, I want to go see movies with you or get coffee or just hang out in our pajamas and bake sugar cookies. But I also want us to drive for Toronto for New Year’s, or maybe visit Yuta down in New York, or hell, I could even go back home, if I wanted to.” Then, with a tiny pout. “Or maybe not. Flying is expensive.”

A laugh escapes Doyoung’s throat. His head, however, is focus on a few words: _with you_ , _our_ , _us_. “Damn right, it is.”

“Still, though. We could, I don’t know.” Taeyong shrugs—that spasm, that sudden shake of his shoulders that Doyoung finds absolutely adorable. “We have so much time to spare!” It’s like Taeyong is asking something else. “There’s so much to do.” _So much we could do_ , Doyoung parrots in his head. “But what about you? What do _you_ want to do during break?” Doyoung looks up, and stares, Taeyong watching him with a small smile. “Just say the word, and we’ll—”

“Can I kiss you?”

Time stops. Those were _not_ the words Doyoung wanted to speak. He doesn’t regret them now that they’re out, however.

Taeyong’s eyes widen, stunned, before they soften progressively. “Doyoung, darling. Of course, I mean—I—” he huffs a nervous laugh. Doyoung recognizes that laugh, the nervousness behind it, what it means. _Darling_. The butterflies, they’re back. “You don’t have to _ask_ , you know. I thought that was obvious, but then again, I wasn’t even sure about this myself—not that I didn’t, or that I don’t—I mean, I _like_ this, you know, I like _us—_ ”

 _I like us._ That’s enough for Doyoung.

He leans in and presses a fleeting on Taeyong’s parted lips. It takes a moment for Taeyong to realize what’s happening, but once he does, he melts against Doyoung’s mouth, and the kiss is so immeasurably _sweet_ it squeezes Doyoung’s heart into pieces. Their mouths move slowly, like they’re afraid of breaking each other, but more so, they’re kissing just to _kiss_ , just to show they care, and not for anything else to follow afterwards. It’s not desperate. It’s just sweet, caring, _loving_ , and Doyoung…

He pulls away, flutters his eyes open. Taeyong’s biting his bottom lip, looking up to him endearingly, and the dam breaks. Doyoung can’t escape himself anymore.

“I like us, too,” he whispers, and it turns sheepish, bashful, and he blushes when Taeyong smiles at him. “In fact, I like us so much that I’ve been kind of going _crazy_ about it for the past few weeks and I had _no idea_ how you felt and it was so _scary,_ Taeyong.”

“Wait—what do you mean, you had no idea? How did you not—”

Doyoung pecks Taeyong’s lips just to shut him up, just because he _can,_ now. The fear doesn’t latch onto his heart any longer, not like it used to. “I was so unsure. I’ve been—I’m…” Okay, nope. Being in love with your best friend? That’s fine. Admitting it out loud? Still fucking terrifying. “I’ve had feelings for you for _months,_ you know. And then, all of a sudden, we’re kissing, holding hands, and you’re still, I don’t know… I—God, Taeyong, what was I supposed to think?”

“That I liked you back?” Taeyong replies, incredulously. He says it with a kind laugh, though, like he understands, now, what Doyoung was feeling. Maybe he felt the same, too. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because—I didn’t understand it, God! I still _don’t_ , if I’m honest. I just…” Doyoung closes his eyes. He feels Taeyong’s hand in his hair—when did it get there? —play with the strands, soothing him. “When you kiss me, I felt—I _feel_ my soul just… _bursting_. It’s scary, but it feels so _good_ , and you… And I didn’t know if you felt anything back. But I couldn’t stop. And I couldn’t bring myself to ask.” He opens his eyes again. The look Taeyong sends him is pained, but understanding. “And you were stressed out, too. So.”

The change is sudden, but Doyoung saw it coming. “God, Doyoung—how many times have I _told you_ —”

“You’re never too busy for me, I know,” Doyoung recites, by heart. He might not say it as often anymore, but that’s just so _Taeyong_ -like. “You also tend to not realize you have your own worries, too. And you need your own space. And…” Doyoung winces, shrugs. “God, all of this feels so stupid when I say it out loud. You probably think I’m an idiot.”

“You’re right, you _are_ an idiot,” Taeyong tuts. Then, after a sharp tug at Doyoung’s hair, he softens, all of him, deflating, kind and soft. “But I guess I was, too.”

“No, Taeyong, please—”

“You do that a lot, you know? Disregarding your own feelings in favour of everyone else’s.” When Doyoung is about to jump at his words—for _obvious_ reasons, because is that really Lee Taeyong, of all people, giving him lessons on overcompensating empathy? —Taeyong raises his free hand, pushing his index finger against Doyoung’s lips. That shuts him up quite fine. “I _know_ I’m not one to talk. I’m working on it,” he says a little quieter, with a pout. “But I _was_ an idiot, though, really. I felt the same. And I didn’t say anything. I just expected you to… I don’t know. To just know, I guess?” Taeyong shrugs. “You know everything about me. I expected you to just figure it out. But you are an idiot, so.”

“What a pair we make,” Doyoung snorts.

Taeyong blooms into a smile. “The best, though.”

At that, Doyoung nods with a hum. He watches Taeyong, so close now, eyelashes sending shadows against the curve of his cheekbones. “You really mean a lot to me, you know?”

Taeyong frowns, but doesn’t stop smiling. “What’s that, suddenly? Are you trying to make me cry?”

Doyoung ignores the second question. If Taeyong cries, that’s _not_ his fault. “I don’t know. I was so worried I’d lose you.” He’s admitting so much, so much he couldn’t even put words to himself only hours prior. “Or that while I was head over heels for you, you thought this was just… some kind of arrangement.” He scrunches his nose. He’s picking up on Taeyong’s habits, it seems. “We’re really not good at talking, I’ve learned that much. Jaehyun was so done with us two.”

A loud laugh booms from Taeyong. “ _Jaehyun_? You told him about this, too?”

“Wait, ‘cause you—”

“Ten,” Taeyong supplies. “I mean, I had to tell _someone_.”

“Oh, my God. Look at us,” Doyoung laughs. “We’re impossible.”

Taeyong nods, then another short silence follows before he says, “You mean a lot for me, too.”

“That’s a relief.”

A shake of the head. “You’re insufferable. I have the most insufferable boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

_Boyfriend._

“Boyfriend?”

Innocent—that’s the look Taeyong sends him. But there’s still determination behind them. “I mean—I hope? If you want? Yeah. Yeah?”

You hear that? That’s the sound of Doyoung’s heart beating itself out of his chest, exploding into a million parcels and dispersing themselves into the universe. That’s Taeyong’s effect on Doyoung summed up for you. “ _Yes,_ I want that. I do.”

“Cool.”

“Cool, boyfriend.”

Taeyong bites at his lips, hiding a smile, and Doyoung decides he can lean in without fear having to push him forward anymore. There’s many more words to be spoken, many fears to be quenched, many insecurities to quiet down—but right now, right now… Doyoung holds this amongst the certainties he can count on.

Finally.

He kisses Taeyong, who hums into his mouth, still moving in lazy motions. He takes his time exploring his mouth, pulling the smallest noises from him, drinking him in, not once hurrying up. The way Taeyong gives back, kissing him deep and languid, pulling him close and sighing against his lips, it’s making his head spin, clouding his thoughts, but in a good way, this time. No hurry.

They have all the time in the world.

***

“Okay, enough kissing, boyfriend. Ten will be home in a matter of minutes now.”

“Let him. Do you know how many times I’ve caught Jaehyun and Ten on my couch? Too many, Taeyong. _Too many_.”

“Doyoung, I live with _Ten_. I think I’d know something about it, yeah.”

“Exactly. So I’m keeping you right here, _boyfriend_. This is just payback from all those war flashbacks I’m getting that I’d rather forget about.”

“We’re really a pair of teenagers, aren’t we.”

“Maybe. Jaehyun would definitely agree.”

“I should text Ten about this.”

“No! He needs to find out the _hard way,_ like we did them!”

A snort. “You do know how this sounds, right?”

A groan. “Oh, my God, Lee Taeyong! Get off me, I’ve changed my mind. I hate you. Find yourself a new boyfriend, I quit.”

“Oh, you _wouldn’t_. You love me.”

A stutter of the heart, and because Doyoung has everything—or nothing—to lose, he says, “Yeah, I guess I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> i owe everything i write to 1) music, and 2) sarah.
> 
> do leave kudos and kind words if you thought this was okay. <3


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